


The Pain of Progeny

by DarkSammyProdigy02



Series: A Series of Angels & Cambions [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Sam Winchesters, Alternate Universe, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF!Sam Winchester, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Developing Friendships, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mpreg, Nephilim, Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Pregnant Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Top Castiel/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2019-11-13 00:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSammyProdigy02/pseuds/DarkSammyProdigy02
Summary: “Sam, you saved the world, and in a way you saved me.”This is the story of how Sam Winchester and Castiel save each other after the death of Gabriel. With the apocalypse no longer nigh, the cambion now has to worry about the fate of his son, who is a nephilim. But when alternate-selves find their way into his world, he has to come out of retirement. Especially when one refuses to go back without a fight.





	1. Castiel Is A Prude

**February 6, 2009**

 Sam Winchester and Gabriel’s baby is more of a parasite than, well, a baby. It gives Sam wretched abdominal pain, bloating, loss of appetite, a distended abdomen, fever, vomiting, listlessness, and he just generally feels unwell. According to WebMD he most definitely has a parasite; one that won’t leave for another three months, that he’ll have to then keep for a decade or two.

It became a ritual: wake up, vomit into the trashcan beside his bed, drag himself into the bathroom, vomit again, shower, dress, vomit one last time, wash up, then sit down to breakfast with the archangel. At least the ginger tea had enough sugar to get rid of the taste of bile. His morning sickness should be over, but he’s learned the hard way that his son is going to be just as picky an eater as his baby-daddy. The cambion can’t even catch a whiff of any kind of vegetable without upchucking, and considering he works in a law firm stuffed to the brim with health-nuts - Needless to say, he keeps a large garbage can at his desk.

On this day, just as they were cleaning up their meal, Gabriel slithered around him and put his hands over Sam’s stomach. "Either my cooking is too rich or that baby really is forming quickly," The archangel grinned.

 _Your boy toy just called you fat._ Argos points out none too gently, looking up from his plastic bowl filled with waffles on the floor.

Sam was going to strangle Gabriel for calling him fat. When he swirled around with a vein throbbing on his forehead, hand extended to reach for his throat, he saw a tender look in the latter’s eyes. The cambion lowers his hands and lets them settle in his lap. The archangel had outdone himself with breakfast this morning, knowing that their child was only interested in what he branded as breakfast. Now surrounded by empty plates, all licked clean, he was content to just sit there and rub his distended abdomen.

“All I’m saying is pregnancy suits you, sasquatch.”

“Shut up,” Sam mumbles sipping from his tea, but his cheeks redden, “I’ll probably get stretch marks like some old hag.”

Gabriel grins, and leans across the table, “And I’d still love you.”

The archangel presses a gentle kiss to his temple, and the cambion can feel the smile on his lips. Then something warm and wet began trickling down the side of his neck, and slowly, he felt the angel’s lips slacken against his neck. Blood flowed, thick and sluggish, from a stab wound in his gut, spilling out glistening grey snakes. The snakes flowed forward, twisting and coiling into a solid mass of flesh and bone, until it formed a man. A man with red eyes.

“Quite the beer gut you’ve got there, Sammy,” Lucifer coos, his mouth a wolffish grin as he pokes a finger against Sam’s stomach,” Maybe you are having a bouncing baby boy with less of wings and a halo, more of a barbed tail and horns. Maybe he’ll come out with a forked tongue and a taste for flesh, little guy will probably just eat his way out. Or pop out like in _Alien_. Or maybe he’ll be my son. Tainted. Demonic.”

 _No, no, no, no_. And Sam struggles so hard not to scream as Lucifer edges closer. Tries to turn his face away as that forked tongue flicks at him. Lucifer takes his hand, it’s rough and calloused, guides Sam’s face back on trajectory. The devil jams a bruising fingertip into Sam’s jaw, pressure half prying Sam’s mouth open. Lucifer catches an opening. Takes it. Draws blood, sucks in, slides his forked tongue between Sam’s teeth.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? That Gabriel, your sub-par knight in shining tinfoil armor, tried to hide our… history from you,” Lucifer whispers pulling away, his gaze cast on his brother’s corpse on the floor, “Do you think that he was afraid? Afraid that you’d come running to me if you knew the truth? You’ve been running your whole life, Sam. Like right now, you’re running from your family and your friends because of what you’ve become. And because you know your destiny, sure you’ve evaded me for now, but there’s a whole other path that you’re already going down. Maybe you aren’t running from everything else, you’re running to me?”

“Shut up,” Sam chokes out, his hand going over his mouth as he backs away. Sam spotted maggots, flecks of doughy white nestled within mangled flesh, feverishly squirming into hunks of gore. Gabriel’s once handsome features were spotted with angry bruises, and death had frozen his face into a rigid smile, a final, eternal lamentation to the heavens.

Lucifer chuckles softly, inclining his head to the side as he continues taunting, “You’ll see, Sam. We’ll find each other, eventually, and when we do – Let’s just say Gabriel will be rolling in his grave.”

Sam woke to soft sheets, and the morning light trickled in through the blinds. Shedding himself of the remaining glimpses of his dream, his eyes were still shut as he soaked in the warmth of his covers before letting his hazel eyes see the sun's rays. He blinks, closes his eyes, and blinks again. He sits up, one hand on his large distended abdomen, and drags his feet off the bed. Rubbing his stomach absentmindedly, he doesn’t even notice the sheen of tears blurring his vision. Slow desolate tears ran from his unblinking eyes and dripped steadily onto his nightshirt.

“Damn it,” Sam curses softly, wiping away the tears. He rubs gentle, reassuring circles onto his belly, “I’m sorry, so, so sorry. I’m trying, buddy. I’m trying so hard to be strong for you.”

The knock came quietly first and then there was silence. After a few seconds, Castiel pokes his head in with a sheepish look. The seraph has been adamant about the cambion’s privacy, ever since his last hormone-induced outburst. The angel had appeared in the back of his car on his way back from work one evening and had damn near forced the pregnant man into premature labor as he slammed onto the brakes with a startled yell. Learning his lesson, he knocked before entering a room, asked before he touched anything that didn’t belong to him, and even got into the habit of making his presence known when he abruptly appeared somewhere.

“Good morning,” Castiel greets, fully entering the room. His eyes settle on the tear tracks going down Sam’s cheeks, and he frowns, “You were dreaming about him again. Weren’t you?”

Sam furiously wipes away the tears, before replying, “Privacy, Castiel. Remember?”

“Yes,” The seraph parrots, “Privacy. I apologize, I’m still trying to get used to…” His gaze falls upon the floor as he trails off, “…the concept of boundaries.”

“What is it like for angels? Boundaries, I mean.”

Castiel looks up, a sad smile on his face as he answers, “There are none, for there is nothing kept between us,” He sighs, and takes a seat on the bed next to Sam, “I do, however, try and respect the privacy of others by not prying into their affairs, but I am your friend, Sam. To express undue curiosity—”

“What about lying?” Sam interrupts, inclining his head in curiosity.

Castiel frowns, and answers, “Lying is absolutely forbidden among angels, except to save face for another. An accusation of lying among us is a deadly insult. Which is why the fall of Raphael caused little outcry, for he would have been severely punished for keeping the truth of the Apocalypse from us anyway. The new leader, Joshua, has already restored what little chaos there was initially.”

Sam turns to Castiel, sensing he was keeping something from him, “And what of Michael, he oldest archangel? Why didn’t he take over?”

“Privacy,” Castiel states, but there is a light humor in his eyes.

“I thought angels did not have such a thing,” Sam points out, bumping his shoulder against Castiel’s.

The seraph places his hands on the cambion’s preparing to hoist him up. “I don’t know,” Castiel murmurs, his fingers gently running along the latter’s knuckles, “I think I enjoy the idea of being able to keep some things to myself.”

“Human ways are often unfathomable. But in time, one learns to live with them,” Sam comments with a slight smile. 

“If one has an exceedingly strong constitution.”

Sam chuckles at that. “I suppose if you are allowing me some privacy, I should do the same for you,” Sam says, letting out a soft grunt as Castiel pulls him up from the bed. He stumbles forward slightly, his hands immediately going to his stomach, but the angel’s are already firm on his waist, steadying him there,” Oh, thank you. I’m still a little thrown off b-balance.”

Castiel nods, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he pulls his hands away. He nods again, then there’s a ruffle of wings, and he’s gone, most likely downstairs preparing to go about his day. Sam is left standing there awkwardly in his pajamas with bed-hair, his own cheeks the same light shade of pink. He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair three times in succession, trying to tame the unruly mess. He glances in the mirror, huffs, and pushes his hand out towards his closet. The door opens and three articles of clothing float out, before falling gracefully onto his bed. 

Laid out onto his bed is a sky-blue sweater set out over a crisp white button-up with a pair of jeans. Sam had quickly learned that one of the worst things about being pregnant was trying to put clothes on and off. So, he cheated. Despite being a self-declared retired cambion, he still used his powers for the simplest of tasks such as: putting on clothes, getting the television remote, adjusting books on a high shelf, and so and so forth. To think, he went from averting the Apocalypse, to not being able to bend over to tie his shoe.

Sam adjusted the sweater over his distended abdomen, his hands brushing over the synthetic fibers, when he felt his child give him a rough kick, and he lets out a sharp gasp. He gently lifts his shirt; purple welts are scattered across his abdomen like a disease. It hurts to breath and he wonders if some ribs are cracked. He recalls the first time he felt the baby kick, back when it was just a gentle flutter rather than a legitimate kick. Oh, how he missed those days.

Castiel had been concerned, his face pinched in worry with a hint of fear at his initial outburst. Then Sam had grabbed Castiel’s hands and pressed them against his then much smaller torso. The seraph’s eyes had visibly softened, a rarity on its own, but then he’d smiled. A real smile, not the sorta-smile that he gave on most occasions. His concern, however, never weened, especially when the bruises started to rise.

“Castiel, I pray to thee to go ahead and boil my tea,” Sam playfully prays, keeping his eyes closed as he continues, “And perhaps if you’re feeling benevolent, put it into my to-go cup?”

Castiel replies, sounding slightly exasperated, his voice resounding in his head,” The ginger tea, yes?”

“Yes,” Sam confirms, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

When Sam finally managed to waddle down the stairs, Castiel was putting in five spoons full of sugar into the tea in Sam’s to-go cup. The simple gesture simultaneously warmed Sam’s heart and sent cold waves over him by turns. The angel was so attentive since discovering he was pregnant. While it mostly made him feel loved, occasionally he wondered if he was more of an oddity to him with the infinite cataloguing on his behaviors.

Argos suddenly appears, a fresh coat of snow covering his fur. _I saw a squirrel while relieving myself this morning. I chased it up a tree._

Sam made a face, and asks, “And?”

 _You are now short one tree._ Argos barks. _I wouldn’t worry though. You’ve got plenty around here._

“You can’t just go around tearing up trees every time you see a squirrel,” Sam tries to sound serious, but he can’t hide the smile that pulls at his lips. 

Argos shakes off and lets out another bark. _It’s not as if I can even make a dent in tree population. And squirrels are vermin, so they should be treated as such. Bug-eyed, buck-toothed, little bastards…_

“I thought you were too proud a creature to chase after squirrels,” The cambion points out.

Argos pokes out his tongue. _I find myself having to resort to the average-dog methods, in order to entertain myself in your absence._

“Cas,” Sam calls out, his hand still situated on his stomach, “Are you absolutely sure there is only one in here?”

“Male pregnancies are rare on their own, Sam. The chances of a male having twins is astronomical,” Castiel responds, one eyebrow raised, “Also, you’ve seen it for yourself at your various doctor appointments, since I am not to be trusted with that aspect of your pregnancy. You trust mere mortal technology which will likely expire or be replaced in the following years. Cold, metal, heartless… machinery.”

Sam is grinning now. “You sound… _jealous_?”

“Jealous. Jealous of what? I am merely perturbed that you chose a human doctor with a few decades of experience in child-bearing, when I have literal eons of experience! Need I remind you that I delivered one of the first children in existence?”

“That’s why you’re delivering him,” Sam points out, grabbing the to-go cup from Castiel’s waiting hands, “I’ve got to head to work in a few minutes. We’re still assembling that crib today, right?” The seraph nods and gives a menacing glare to the box in the corner, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to mess around with it that much. You just have to hand me tools and such, maybe give me the occasional hand.”

Castiel looks visibly relieved at that, and says, “Good.”

After living in such close quarters with the angel for the past few months, the cambion slowly began to notice that he hated using human tools and technology. Sam had been able to teach him how to use a lot of things in the kitchen, and a few of the things in the living room, but that was about it. And really the only technology he willingly used was the television. Though the seraph would never admit it, it was obvious he was quite fond of Netflix, particularly the television show _Gilmore Girls_. 

“So, what are you going to do while I’m gone?” Sam questions as he grabs his shoulder bag and keys from the coffee table.

“I have affairs in Heaven, but rest assured, I will be back on time to help you assemble the crib,” Sam opens his mouth to question further, when Castiel interrupts, “Privacy.”

“Privacy,” Sam says, before walking towards the door. He grabs his thick winter coat from the coat rack, pulls it on, then twists a scarf around his neck, “Dear God, I look like the whale that swallowed Jonah.”

“That’s a common misconception. It was actually said to be a large fish, and I remind you that whales are mammals – “

“Cas.”

The angel’s vessel is cute, so no one ever tells him to shut his pie-hole. Argos huffs, laying on his paws. You really should educate him some more on, well, humans. 

“Right,” Castiel states with a little humor in his voice. Then any hint of it disappears as he changes the subject, “Sam, Dean has been sending out more prayers. He’s heard rumors of a new king presiding over hell, and well – He is known for making assumptions, Sam. He hasn’t heard from you in months, and I think that he’s afraid for you, especially with what he last saw of you…”

At those words, Sam recalls a scene he read in one of the _Supernatural_ books Gabriel left him.

_“I'm not some junkie,” Sam snaps._

“ _Really,” Dean scoffs, disbelieving. Then his tone turns sarcastic,” I guess I've just imagined how strung out you've been lately."_

_Sam lets out a false laugh, breathy and choked. His voice becomes louder as he brushes the hair out of his face and the sweat from his forehead, “You’re actually trying to twist this into some kind of ridiculous drug intervention?"_

_"If it smells like a duck,” His brother growls._

“ _Dean, I'm not drinking demon blood for kicks,” Sam exclaims, trying to keep his voice from rising higher, to keep it even as he stops pacing and re-approaches the door, “I’m getting strong enough to kill Lilith!"_

_"Strong?"_

“ _Yeah!"_

“ _It's about as far away from strong as you can get,” The older Winchester hisses, and the younger throws his head, a muscle twinging by his mouth, “Try weak. Try desperate. Pathetic."_

Sam gulps, adjusting his bag over his shoulder, trying to hide the hurt from his voice, “Assure him that I didn’t just ditch him, so I could go hang out in the pit.” And with that he bows his head against the cold, harsh winds, and begins waddling to his car in the driveway. 

 

SPNSPN

 

_There was a gate of rough wood as big as a cow and ivy cascaded over the fence, growing tendrils in every direction. The stone path was punctuated with weeds after every stone. The disheveled, un-manicured lawn was more moss with its dank and squishy surface. Clusters of defiant daffodils reared their golden heads amidst the gloom and there were smatters of fuchsia alongside the scarlet and saffron hued primroses._

_In the middle of the neglected garden, there is a large apple tree that was probably meant to be the jewel of the garden. Whoever planted it likely thought they’d be drinking in the aromas of the late summer blooms and sinking their teeth into the delicate skin of home-grown organic apples. In the end, the tree that did grow was in no state to be the jewel of anything. The bark had a sort of creeping mildew and the leaves were curled in an unhealthy way. It bore apples of sort, some even with a pink blush, but they all bore deep brown spots._

_Joshua is wearing a pair of old, worn gardening gloves, and he’s on his hands and knees, pulling weeds from the ground. Castiel is standing a few feet away, his arms dangling awkwardly at his sides. The gardener pulls out a particularly stubborn weed with a huff, then stands and dusts himself off. Immediately, the seraph straightens up in attentiveness, waiting for his fellow angel to address him._

_“Castiel,” Joshua chides with a warm smile, “I still just trim the hedges as I always have. I have no more authority or power than I had before. The only thing that is different, is that our father believes that it is not wise to leave us completely alone. So, he wishes for me to relay his word to his children, so that they are not led astray once more.”_

_Castiel nods after a moment, and says, “I’d only just heard that you’d taken over Heaven. I’ve been busy these past few days.”_

“ _Yes, busy with Sam Winchester,” Joshua acknowledges and motions to the space around him, “Our father speaks of him often. Almost as much as the child he carries in his womb. Is the child not the reason you are here?”_

_Nothing in the seraph’s face betrayed the sudden spike of fear, it was a mask of calm and surety, as he questions, “What does our father wish to do with the child? The nephilim?”_

“ _You do know the history of nephilim, do you not, Castiel?”_

“I  _do,” Castiel confirms with a slight nod,” It is said, that entire worlds died at their hands causing them to be forbidden by the oldest laws of Heaven. As a result, they are considered to be unholy beings and abominations. But I believe this one –”_

_“And you know that carrying a nephilim is always fatal to the human carrier?”_

“ _Sam is different. He is a cambion, and a powerful one at that. He’ll be able to carry his child, and later, raise him.”_

_Joshua’s brows creased and his face tensed. “Our father has already decided what is to be done with the child but let me ask you this. What do you think, Castiel?” Joshua asks, “Of Sam Winchester?”_

_“I have only known him for a brief time,” The seraph starts with an almost soft look in his eyes, “But, I see Sam Winchester as an idealist who somehow manages to always see the good in everyone, even monsters. Unlike his older brother, Sam is quiet and tireless, constantly in pursuit of making things better even when it seems things are the worst that they possibly could be. But what I or anyone else thinks of him does not matter because his actions speak for himself! He sacrificed his humanity, his very heart and soul, to save an ungrateful world! His reward? A dead lover and a fatherless child!”_

_He takes a step forward, before continuing, “And if my father has decided that Sam Winchester’s child is to be taken away, after all that single human has done for the very world that he abandoned… Then damn him! Damn him for abandoning us and still expecting us to follow his outdated rules… The one thing he left behind for us, his own children.”_

_The angel’s mouth is a thin line as he states, “That is why our father has commanded that not a single hair on the child’s head is to be touched. No one is going to harm your human friend or his offspring.”_  

_“…What?” The seraph questions._

_“The nephilim is safe, my friend. No angel in heaven will lay a finger on him or his remaining father,” Joshua reassures with a warm look in his eyes,”Believe it or not, Castiel, our father does still listen. He speaks of Sam often because he finds him to be… interesting. He went against everything that he himself put down in the beginning and still won. Sure, he had some help, but he alone conquered the first demon and averted the apocalypse. He admires your friend a great deal and I don’t believe he wants anything to happen to him.”_

_“Good,” Castiel hisses, “If anyone deserves a single moment of peace, it is Sam Winchester. But, tell me, does he even mention his own sons?”_

_“Our father mourns just as any father would,” Joshua states with a slight shrug as if the answer is obvious,”We all like to think of him as this entity that is distant, separate from us… but we seem to forget that we are made in his image. Whatever we can do, he can.”_

“ _Can he not just bring them back?”_

_The angel huffs in an aggravation and points out,”Castiel I would have you know that I am not a messenger bird.”_

_The seraph nods slowly and apologizes,”Forgive me. I expect many angels demand answers out of you.”_

_“And I wish I could provide them, but our father and I do not just talk endlessly,” Joshua explains as he looks at some birds splashing about in a bird bath._

_Castiel follows the latter’s gaze and inquires,”So, Sam and his child are safe?”_

_“Yes. But despite that, I have been worried for your friend because as you can see, his garden has not been kept. Everything here rots and fades in time with him. I’ve been trying to do some upkeep myself, but I’m afraid I may have to uproot everything, and just start all over.”_

  _“Gabriel’s death took quite the toll on him. I did not realize the state of human’s soul, affected their Heaven,” Castiel ponders aloud._

_“Why wouldn’t it? It is his heaven after all,” Joshua states pulling back on his gardening gloves,”It’s shame to uproot everything because before it was the most breath taking garden of all. But I suppose with a chance to start a new, it can still be that… But even then –“_

_“What? What is it, Joshua?”_

_Joshua has already begun to dig his gloved hands back into the earth, but at the other angel’s questioning he tenses. “Your friend’s future is cloudy to me, brother,” He confesses,”Our father may not have him killed deliberately, but I cannot guarantee that he will survive long into the future.”_

_“No, no,” Castiel utters, the corners of his lips twitching. His face was blank as a slate, but for an angel, he might as well have been shedding tears,”Tell me it is not so.”_  

_“I would not lie to you, Castiel. What I say is true, but I do not know how or when or if it will even still happen. These things are in constant motion, never the same for too long. But, what I do know is that many dangers lie ahead; foes that have yet to reveal themselves,” The angel begins to dig into the dirt again, and continues,”Now, I just pray that you are able to protect your friend.”_

Castiel’s angel blade was dull. He had to make it sharper. He knew the drill. He'd been trained well as a fledgling. Extending his palm forward, the seraph’s flesh pulsed a dull blue as he hovered it over the dull edge of the blade. And then he strikes it.

The strikes on his angel blade were sharp, jagged as he dragged the blade. Had to make it sharper. An extension of his own grace, his being. The hilt digs into his leg as he watches as little pieces of silver glitter slip to the floor. He’s making it stronger, not blunt, nor soft.

Something was flying around his head.

A bug, he cannot recall which kind.

Castiel contemplated simply smiting it, and then he changed his mind.

_Buzzz._

In one swift movement, Castiel launched an attack, piercing the bug on the very tip of his newly sharpened blade. He took a deep breath, wrinkled his nose, and brushed off the now dead bug. He then polished the blade with the edge of his trench coat’s sleeve but he didn’t continue sharpening it. He presses the cool, rounded hilt to his forehead. It feels right. Because after all, Castiel is a bit like a blade himself.

Castiel is like his weapon in many ways. They had both no choice. They both lived for the kill and nothing more. Hardened. Indifferent. Still, the two of them could still shine and look so beautiful. Deceitful. Exactly how they were created. And now they were both dull and useless.

What use was Castiel if he could not save the one thing on this beautiful, horrible world that he considered a friend? 

SPNSPN

Bound in red leather, cracked and dry with age, the thin volume smells faintly of pipe tobacco and dust. The pages within are brittle and what remains of the book’s original stitching is barely holding it together. Sam Winchester was sifting through the pages, every so once in a while glancing at his laptop in front of him. One of the many attorneys at the firm, needed to prepare for trial by verifying the facts associated with a case. Which of course was Sam’s job. So, now he was having to research laws and previous cases that might influence how the attorney formulates his argument for the courtroom.

Sam glances up from his work at a brief knock on the door. The woman that walked in could have graced any billboard or magazine cover, but she was better than those two dimensional photoshopped models. She looked like the kind of young woman his brother would lure into their motel room with a pick-up line and a charming smile. Yet there was a shyness to her, hesitation in her body movements and a softness in her voice.

“You’re Mr. Wesson? Strange, I was expecting a crusty old man on the brink of death,” The young woman jokes, her eyes raking up and down his upper half. Her smile is extremely flirtatious, so she clearly likes what she sees, until he stands up revealing his distended abdomen, “A-and pregnant. Oh, God. I am so, _so_ sorry – “

“It’s fine, really. I am Mr. Wesson, is there something I can help you with Miss – “ 

“Lyle. Rebekah Lyle.”

Sam smiled at the girl and stuck out his hand,” Oh Rebekah, you’re the new attorney, aren’t you? It’s nice to finally meet you. And yes, I am pregnant and feeling very much so.”

The young woman shook the man’s hand hesitantly, “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Wesson. I’ve heard a lot about you too. I didn’t expect you to be so tall…or so…”

“Pregnant?” Sam questions with a raised brow.

Rebekah responds with a nervous laugh. “Well, I just needed to grab some files, and I’ll be on my way…” She went to one of the many filing cabinets, and began combing through them, before pulling out a few, “I – I’ll just… Go, and, uh… It was nice to meet you.”

 “Oh, bye – “

Then Sam was alone again, much to his relief. He’d been putting off this particular case for a while, so he needed to finish it as soon as possible. Though he was considering taking a lunch break with a couple of the lawyers from upstairs. Most of them were fresh out of law school or middle-aged, that were genuinely nice, maybe a little too nice to him sometimes. Whenever he declined having lunch with them, they usually brought him something in a to-go box with a smile. Their “niceness” was ridiculous before he was really showing, but once he revealed that little detail to the whole workplace almost everyone backed off.

Almost as if summoned, Stephen Hyde and John Sheridan, two of the younger lawyers in the firm walked side-by-side into Sam’s office. Stephen slaps down a towering pile of files, and then sets down two to-go boxes in a plastic bag beside it. John, smiling apologetically, sets down his own massive stack of files. Sam is tempted to take both piles and shove them up both their asses, and from his expression, he makes this very evident.

Stephen quickly tries to reason with the pregnant man, “Look, I know that I brought them a little late – “

“Pretty damn late,” Sam interjects with a scoff.

“But,” Stephen reasons, scooting the two to-go boxes closer to Sam,” I also brought you lunch, so that you wouldn’t have to waddle down to the hamburger joint with us. It’s like my old man used to tell me, ‘A lunch a day, keeps the angry pregnant person away’. Plus, John didn’t even bring any compensation.”

The cambion rolls his eyes, and begins sifting through the boxes, “Bacon cheeseburger with everything on it? Extra-salty fries?”

“And dessert,” Stephen states,” Two slices of apple-pie, still warm.”

“You’re forgiven,” Sam declares practically drooling, “And John, next time you wait to slap some files on my desk until halfway through the day, and don’t bring anything to make up for it, I’m tossing them out the window.”

John gives him another apologetic smile, before replying,” Yeah, sorry about that, man. It just completely slipped my mind.”

Sam sighs, and turns in his rolling chair to situate the files on his desk. The two men are about to leave when Sam asks, “Did you guys not tell the new girl that I’m pregnant?”

“Well, we tried to tell her man, but she thought we were pulling her leg,” John says with a snort.

Stephen bats his eyelashes, intertwines his fingers together, and declares in a high-pitched voice, “What? A big handsome man like that can’t be gay. Why, it’s a crime against womanhood! Oh, I see, you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you? You just have to be,” He pulls out an invisible lipstick tube, and huffs,” Nice try boys, but The Beckster is going mountain climbing. If you know what I mean – “

The cambion’s cheeks burn bright red as he sputters, “She did not say that!”

“Nope,” Stephen states with a goofy grin, “But she might as well have. We’ll see you later, Wesson.

”Later,” John says with a little wave, following his friend out the door.

Oddly enough, Crowley was the one who helped Sam settle down and get a whole new life and identity. The fact that he could get away with a fake name and altered past, without anyone else finding him, was all thanks to the demon. Even if the cambion had some experience with hacking, and he learned and gotten better with years of practice, he had never done something like creating a new identity. The demon had set everything up for him, and he did it so flawlessly never had any problems with his fake life.

“ _Consider it a favor for not doing me in the second I stepped foot on your property. Also, for even allowing me to have the throne – A position that has been rightfully yours since before your bloody existence was even fathomed – “_

“ _Crowley,” Sam said, glancing up from the bucket of russet brown he was using to outline the walls of his son’s nursery,” You know I have no interest in ever taking my ‘rightful place’ on the throne. That was path Azazel and his gang tried to carve for me, and trust me, I am more than happy to stray from it. Besides, in case you haven’t noticed I’ve got bigger things on my plate at the moment,” He pats his baby bump, “Literally.”_

_The demon snorted, and responded, “You have put on quite a bit of weight. I pity the termites beneath these floorboards. They’re probably in the mind that their own Apocalypse is about to occur.” Sam just flipped him the bird and went back to outlining the wall._

“ _Curious thing humans, Heaven remains untouched and unchanged since the beginning of time. I leave for three hours and you redecorate,” Castiel says, suddenly appearing beside the demon,” Crowley.”_

_“Feathers.”_

_“Yes, leave the pregnant man to paint, while you two exchange intense smolders and glares,” Sam mutters. Castiel shoots him an apologetic look and grabs a paint brush. Then both of them look at the demon expectantly._

_Crowley scoffs and holds his hands up. “I can send a couple of grunts over to help, but there is no bloody way -“ Sam flashes his yellow eyes and scowls,”But if you insist.”_

_Castiel’s lips twitch in amusement and he hands the demon a paint brush. Crowley mutters under his breath but snatches the brush from the latter’s grip. Then all of them get to painting._

In all honesty, Sam was a little overqualified for his job as a legal researcher at the firm he worked at. But he had never gone to law school, so he didn’t have the confidence to fake the qualifications of being a lawyer. He could at least say his three and a half years at Stanford University equated to being qualified as a legal researcher, not to mention his years of being the go-to researcher as a hunter. Though he was considering doing some online classes after the baby was able to start school. As his brother had so adequately put it throughout the years, he’s just trying to live an “apple pie life”.

Sam never wanted to be found, hell, he didn’t even want there to be the slightest chance that he ever could be. But thanks to Crowley, Samuel Wesson had an impeccable past. The cambion wanted to be able to live the remainder of eternity with some semblance of a normal life with his son. He knew his little family was never going to be entirely normal, he was hopeful not delusional, but he wanted for his son to grow up with something he never had. Stability. And he couldn’t have that if he ever saw his brother again.

Sam tried making excuses whenever Castiel brought up the subject. He said that he was afraid of how his brother would react to him trying to live a normal life again, to giving up hunting. That he wouldn’t accept his son - He wasn’t human, so god knows what he’d do. Hell, his brother doesn’t even know that he can get pregnant! A fertility test had been done at his middle school, years earlier, and when the results had come back positive, he’d forged his father’s signature and swore to himself never to speak of it again. But in the end, that’s all they were... excuses. The truth was he wanted to separate himself entirely from his former life. He felt like butter spread over too much bread, and he just wanted to get away from all the violence and pain that was his past.

 ‘Selfish,’ He thinks to himself.

While thinking, his fingers found a way under his shirt and sweater, curling around the warm distention of his stomach. Sam caught himself doing it but didn’t stop the gesture. He glanced at the clock and decided since he already had lunch sitting in front of him, he might as well go ahead and take his break. Though for him, it was less of a break, and more of way of switching gears. He had more work to do, just nothing legal related. He sifted through his shoulder bag before pulling out the large leather-bound journal at that bottom.

Sam untied the leather tassels that hung from the sides and opened the journal. He’d finished the Supernatural series, the books that chronicled what had happened in an alternate-timeline. Although, he was still trying to sort out some of the smaller details of how the two timelines were different. As an avid reader he was exceptionally good at picking up unresolved plot points or characters that hadn’t even been mentioned again. Luckily, Gabriel had left behind a journal explaining some of the things Sam couldn’t find out just from reading. And the cambion had been making it a point to go through all of these little notes.

As he reads and jots down notes, he digs into his lunch. If he could have opened his mouth any wider, he would have eaten the burger in one bite. As it was, he took off half of it in one massive bite. Then he gulped it down and without pausing to breathe he took another swinging bite at the rest of the burger.

“You did this to me,” Sam accuses looking down at his stomach. He just gets a rough kick as a response.

 

SPNSPN

 

Castiel didn't even know why he was watching _Gilmore Girls_. He didn't laugh when he was supposed to, he didn't feel any tension during the drama, he barely followed the plot. His eyes rested back on the flickering screen and found that in his brief distraction the commercials had begun. Often, he preferred them to the show. They were short, attention grabbing and required no intellectual effort. Once they were over his mind turned to the sleeping man on the couch. Sam had gotten home from work late, again, and had promptly collapsed onto the couch with a loud, exasperated groan. Then, within mere seconds, he was snoring.

Castiel hadn’t even noticed until he commented that one of the television show’s characters, Dean Forester, looked awfully similar to Sam. When that didn’t illicit a reply or even a snort, the seraph looked over and settled his gaze on the cambion. When he was asleep, he lay as still as a brick, his arms settled protectively over the swell of his child. The only movement was the slight rise and fall of his chest. In sleep he was angelic, his face as fresh as a dew drop, making gentle snuffling noises as he breathed.

Argos is fast asleep at his master’s feet, his legs twitching ever so often. Castiel gently picks up the corgi and settles him on the chair where he’d been sitting, which is already warm due to his vessel’s body heat. The dog rolls over and grumbles a bit but settles back to sleep. The seraph then turned to the cambion and placed one arm around his back and the other arm around the bend in his knees. He was about to lift him, up when he felt a gentle pat on his shoulder. The angel looks down, his arms still holding the latter close to his chest, and he sees a pair of tired eyes blinking back at him.

“You know I’m still capable of walking up a pair of stairs,” Sam murmurs, a wry smile on his face.

“I am aware of this,” Castiel says softly, still holding him close. His eyes travel towards the latter’s distended stomach again, this time settling on the shadows of bruises peaking from underneath his shirt, “But you shouldn’t have to.”

Sam follows Castiel’s gaze, and quickly pulls his shirt down. “Cas,” He utters, “You know that you don’t owe me anything, right?”

“…I owe you everything. Sam, you saved the world, and in a way you saved me.”

Sam shook his head, and whispers,”We saved each other.”

Nonetheless Castiel pulled his arms away, allowing Sam to settle back down on the couch. Abruptly, Sam wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him close, gently leaning his head into his neck. The embrace was light, his stubble glazed his neck, and for a brief moment his lips brushed against his neck. The seraph was stiff, appreciative of the simple gesture, but not sure how to respond.

Almost as if reading his mind Sam’s chest rumbles as he laughs,” It’s a hug, Cas. You’re supposed to hug me back.”

So, that’s what Castiel does. Castiel wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. Despite the heavy uncomfortableness of Sam’s stomach, something inside him fluttered at the feeling of another body pressed against his. He sunk into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the touch. Then both of them pull apart, their arms still touching as they turn simultaneously to the window. Outside the wind howled, piling up snow in drifts, blinding the night with ice-white dust.

“What are you thinking about?” Castiel inquires turning to Sam as he tilts his head up and presses his lips together.

“Those books that Gabriel left for me,” Sam answers crossing his arms over his chest,”I was thinking about the things he did to make the outcome different this time around. I mean, there are some names in the books that haven’t even popped up. One of them that caught my eye was Zachariah. He was an angel that was meant to influence my brother and I to say ‘yes’ to Lucifer and Michael.”

The seraph’s brows furrowed and he says,”Zachariah has been dead for quite a while now, Sam. He was one of the first to disappear when we were initially sent to earth,” He tilts his head to the side and asks,”Do you think that early on in his time-traveling, Gabriel began to eliminate figures he deemed as threats to his plans?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” The cambion confirms with a nod,”We need to look into this further – _Ah!_ Castiel?” At that instant, his child began to kick up a storm and Sam gasped sharply. He stroked his stomach, trying to calm down his baby, instead getting more kicks in return.

Argos perks his head up, his ears flattening on his head as he lets out a soft snarl. _I smell something approaching._

“Michael,” Castiel breathes.

The angel can feel him in the air, a presence entirely separate from those of his other older brothers. Lucifer was the most prideful and avaricious, Raphael was the most ruthless and imperious, and Gabriel was the most mischievous and deceptive. But Michael is the mightiest and the most loyal archangel. The oldest archangel felt like a solitary star in the darkest night, a pin hole in a dark canvas; he was Light.

“Samuel Winchester, I wish to speak to you, alone. Meet me in the Telluride Town Park,” The archangel’s voice is calm, but unwavering with a finality to it.

"I knew this day would come,” Sam states, gently pulling his arm away from Castiel’s,”Cas... you can’t come with me.”

The seraph turns to the cambion, his eyes hardened, “Where you go, I go. I have sworn myself to your side."

“...If it is your choice to come with me, then I could not wish for a better or braver companion."

The park was covered in a thick blanket of white, statutes peeked out under their new white caps, footsteps and paw prints crisscrossed each other around the labyrinth of paths. Aside from the brown of the denuded trees, the only other color was the vivid saffron staining around the base of each lamppost, tree, and shrub. Michael is sitting on the park bench alone, wearing a nameless, faceless vessel.

“I was expecting Sam… _alone_ ,” Michael utters his mouth a thin line.

Castiel keeps a protective hand on Sam’s arm as he responds,” Sam is here as am I. He wished for me to be with him.”

“Did he?” Michael inquires, one eyebrow raised, “He has a better sense of humor than I thought. This seraph has no business being here. By all rights, I should snap my fingers and be done with him.”

Castiel narrows his eyes and steps in front of Sam. “And I would gladly put down my life for him.”

"You mean me to believe this..." Michael made a vague gesture at Sam who was beginning to feel less nervous and more peeved,”Averted the apocalypse, preventing the release of my brother? That he protected the seals? Killed the white-eyed demon herself? He can't even speak to me without hiding behind his pet.”

Michael sneered at Castiel whose face grew even more thunderous. The seraph looked about ready to draw his angel blade when Sam had just about enough. The cambion placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder before placing himself once again in front of him. Then he placed a hand on his impressively sized stomach and fixed the archangel with a glare; his eyes flowed yellow.

“In case you don’t remember, Michael, you were noticeably absent throughout the entire ordeal. So, you know nothing, nothing, of what I went through - of what all of us - went though. You stood by and watched like some sort of sick spectator as two of your brothers were killed, and for what? The apocalypse? Lucifer defied your father and betrayed you, but he was already locked away for what he did - There was no point to the entire damn thing,” He takes a shaking breath and slowly his yellow eyes dull. He turns to the angel standing behind him,”And he is not my pet! He is one of the few angels that was willing to defy your will and your father’s so that my world could live! So, that my brother and I could be spared a fate far worse then death... being tied to you and your brother as you tore each other apart. I will not stand by while you insult my friend with your ignorance!”

Castiel looked to be caught between a mix of surprise at Sam’s outburst and wanting to vacate the premise as soon as possible. There were several moments of tense silence while the cambion quietly contemplated how many times in the last few months his mouth had almost gotten him killed and a few times it had. The cambion kept his arms crossed and his face stone cold, but couldn't help imagining the numerous ways an archangel could make him regret his little outburst.

Michael’s face was impassive as he seemed to consider Sam before he let out a soft laugh. "And now, Sam Winchester, I am slightly more inclined to believe that you averted the apocalypse. You have spirit for such a... fickle thing. I respect that,” Amused, he simply says, “Please, both of you sit.” 

“I'd rather stand,” Sam states his hand rubbing the underside of his stomach, “Now tell me, why did you call me here, Michael?”

 “Because I have just one question: Why?” Michael questions staring up at Sam with a neutral expression, “Why go to such lengths to prevent an event that has been planned, formulated since the beginning? The apocalypse was my destiny, and I have a right to know, why you did what you did.”

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“That's not an answer,” Michael hisses. 

“Oh, yes, it is. It's simply not an answer you like, or the answer you expected. There's a difference. Humans, angels, demons, we all do what we do for the same reason: because it seemed like a promising idea at the time,” Sam explains, “But now I know that there is a harsh and bitter truth behind it, all of it. Castiel I want you to go back to the house and retrieve all of the books Gabriel left me.”

Castiel looked hesitant, but after a moment he nodded. There was a ruffle of feathers and then he was holding the chest full of books. The seraph hands the box to the archangel. The cambion, noticing the archangel’s puzzled looks explains, “These books, they’ll answer any other questions you have. When you’re done with them bring them back, and then we’ll talk again.”

“And if I don’t want to talk?” Michael allows the open threat to linger in the air.

“So be it,” Sam grits out, his eyes flashing yellow, “But you will leave my son out of it. I don’t give a flying royal shit about what happens to me, but if you lay a single goddamn finger on my son… I will dig a hole straight to hell and shove you in the cage with your piss-ant of a brother myself.” 

 


	2. Samandriel Is A Fanboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam goes into labor and finally sees his baby boy. Meanwhile, some strange happenings begin to occur with the birth.

**April 1, 2009**

Lucifer is tracing the edge of a scalpel against the lower half of his swell. Lucifer is bored, and he’s tired of waiting, so he decides that it’s best to just go ahead and cut it out, so he can “keep that bikini body”. He felt the hot blood pooling around him, making him want to scream and throw up at the same time. The liquid running down his body, splashing onto the floor, was inescapable and made him feel like he was sinking into it.

He suddenly got the sensation that he was being pulled away against his will. The image of the devil’s glowing red eyes shifted dizzyingly around him, and he felt completely disoriented. In a flash, the darkness dissipated, and his eyes flew open. Though his eyes are open he can't think of why; his heart is pounding, mind empty. It's as if a hypodermic of adrenaline has been emptied into his carotid.

Sam sat up slowly, to find himself in his bed, in the cabin in Telluride, Colorado. His sheets are a tangled mess around his legs, and his breathing is ragged and uneven. He grasped mentally to gain his bearings. He strains into the utter darkness, breathing rate beginning to steady. His hand runs down his face, and he feels a wetness around his eyes; he still couldn’t shake the feeling of sitting in his own blood.

“He’s not here. He’s trapped. Trapped,” Sam repeats that one word over and over again like a mantra,” Trapped. Trapped. Trapped – “ He closed his eyes and let his head drop into his hands. He tried to focus on pushing the nightmare away, until he shifts and feel the wetness underneath him.

Untangling himself from his sheets, and peeling back his quilt, Sam realizes that there’s something wet and clammy soaking into his pajama bottoms and into the mattress. And oh yes, there it is – a twinge in his lower abdomen – somewhere in between a little too much to eat and a knife in the stomach. His breaths come in gasps and he feels like he’s going to black out. His heart is hammering inside his chest like it belongs to a rabbit running for its skin.

“Cas!” Sam scrambled back against the headboard, gripping his stomach tightly as panic builds up in his chest, “ _Castiel!”_ There was a ruffle of wings and suddenly Castiel was by his side, his hand settled on Sam’s knee. He cocked his head at Sam in a concerned searching manner, his hand gripping his knee tightly. “M-my water broke a-and – !”

Castiel gently runs his fingers through Sam’s hair trying to calm him down as he utters, “Sam, I need you to change into a fresh pair of clean clothes, then situate yourself in one of the guest bedrooms. I’ll be with you in just a few minutes.”

Sam chokes out,” W-where are you… g-going?” Castiel had to smile a little at that and started rubbing Sam’s swollen belly with his free hand to calm him down and assure him that everything would be fine.

“I have to get things ready, Sam,” Castiel says, his hand halting on the slightly dampened curls at the base of his neck, “There is no need to be afraid of what’s happening now. We both knew it would happen soon and we are prepared for everything. So, you need to lean back and relax for a while. Even so, I have made sure that we are prepared for any possible contingency that may occur. A young fledgling, Samandriel, will be on stand-by should I need help – “

Suddenly, Sam grabbed Castiel’s necktie and yanked him down into his face. "You listen to me, you feathered jack-ass, you are not letting some stranger look down there – _Fuck_ ,” He threw him aside with a surprisingly strong shove that sent the angel sprawling backward across the floor, “God, fine, just – _fuck_ – hurry up!”

Castiel stood back up, dusted himself, and nodded, “I will not abandon you, Sam. I’ll be there for everything, and I will do anything, _anything_ that I can for you.”

Sam gasped in pain and suddenly took Castiel’s hand in a painfully tight grip, “It hurts…”

“I know it does, Sam. I know. Sam,” Castiel starts softly, with a pitying gaze as he starts to run his fingers through the latter’s hair again, "I realized, I never told you how much faith I have in you, how much you mean to me. I think it's time you knew that."

Castiel gives him that sorta-smile and squeezes his hand before disappearing with a ruffle of feathers, leaving Sam alone to struggle out of his damp clothes and quickly rinse off in the shower. He started digging around for something clean, and quickly decided on a pair of loose sweat pants and a massive sweatshirt. It takes twice as long as usual to maneuver with his giant belly constantly in the way, but eventually he manages. The cambion started moaning and grunting oddly as the pain intensified. He tried evening out his breathing as he made his way into one of the many guest rooms and situated himself onto the bed. And then, he just waited.

The contractions kept coming faster and stronger, and the minutes just seem to keep dragging on and on. Sam was propped up on a bunch of pillows with hot compresses situated on his inner thighs. The cambion let out another groan as turned onto his side, and the seraph started to massage his aching lower back. The seraph cautiously held onto the cambion’s trembling shoulders as he began to try and sit up.

 “I need to walk – Cas, please, help me up,” Sam threw his legs over the side of the mattress, and quickly pulled his sweatpants back up before Castiel could see anything.

“Be careful,” Castiel says gently as he pulled him to his feet and steadied him.

Sam nodded. “I’m good. Now let’s…” He cried out when a sharp pain jolted through his lower half and would have slumped onto the floor if the latter hadn’t been grabbing his upper arms so tightly, “I-I’m fine, that one just caught me off guard.”

Then something sounds in his head. _Push._

“I need… push…”

“Sam, don't push yet! You're not ready," Castiel shouted fretfully.

"I h-have to…”

The voice continues to urge Sam. _Push. Push. Push._

“Breathe! Fast pants. Don't strain. You aren't fully dilated."

"Fuck, it hurts!" But Sam tried to work on his breathing. Castiel was nodding like Sam was doing something good, so he kept figuring out how to breathe normally again.

Castiel squeezes Sam’s hand tight and he shook his head, “It’s far too early. You’ve only been in labor for a short while,” He carefully guided him back into the bed. The contraction hadn’t eased off, telling by the pained expression on Sam’s pale face, “Don’t push, yet.”

“Cas,” Sam groaned and bent his knees, bearing down because the urge to do so was too strong to fight. The tendons on his neck stood out clearly with the effort of pushing and he was making feeble whimpering noises.

Castiel watched on with a deep frown as Sam lowered himself down beside the bed as he screws his eyes shut. His face is bright red from exhortation before he gave a low, pained moan. Sam balled up his fists as he felt the muscles underneath his tightened, large belly constrict. “C-Cas …oh fuck. I want to get on the exercise ball…please.”

Castiel nods and rolls over the large plastic ball. As Sam slowly lowers himself into a sitting position on the giant ball, the angel rubbed the small of his friend’s back, keeping him steady as he began to rotate ever so slightly. The cambion keeps two hands on his stomach and slowly rotate from the left to the right. The seraph takes one of his hands, keeping his free hand on the small of the cambion’s back as he keeps moving.

“It’ll all be over soon, Sam. Just breathe.” Sam only cried out in reply as the pain of another contraction ripped through his stomach. He bought a hand to his tight stomach, rubbing it softly and leaned his head against the angel’s chest.

Castiel settled both of his hands-on Sam’s stomach before his friend stopped moving on the exercise ball and he panted heavily. The seraph gave a deep frown as the cambion bit back a loud groan. “I can prepare you some more warm compresses to put between your thighs,” Castiel offers.

“Yes, God, yes,” Sam grounded out, panting softly before he held back from pushing.

 “Samandriel,” Castiel closes his eyes and prays.

 A flutter of wings and suddenly a young man is standing in front of the bed. He’s wearing a red and white stripped Weiner Hut uniform with a name tag that reads: Alfie. The angel nervously adjusts his hat and gives the two a smile, before introducing himself,” Hello, I’m Samandriel, but you can just call me by my vessel’s name – Alfie.”

“Hello, I am Castiel,” Castiel responds with a nod of his head,” And this is Sam Winchester. I’ve heard remarkable things about you from Joshua. He says you’re one of the best healers he has to offer.”

Alfie grins, and exclaims,” Did he really? I mean, I’ve had the proper training, of course, and I was the best in my class, but I could never, ever exceed your skills! I’ve heard many tales about your skills of healing on the battle lines!”

“I apologize. I believe he is what you humans refer to as a ‘fan-boy’,” Castiel mutters with a sheepish look.

"I don’t care," Sam huffed in pain,” As long as I get to crush both of your hands." 

 

SPNSPN

  

Alfie cringed under the crushing grip that threatened to break every bone in his hand. "Ow, ow, ow, ow,” He yelps and turns to the other angel,” I’ve heard of the strength of a cambion, but no mere tale could – _Ow_!”

Castiel’s face drew up in agony as Sam squeezed his other hand. "You could've...trimmed...your nails...Sam,” He squeezes it back, and takes a breath,” Deep breathes, Sam.”

“It's not time to push," Alfie told him brusquely,"If you don't listen to what Castiel tells you, you'll hurt yourself."

“Get. It. _Out_!" Sam shouts not even flinching as nearly every piece of glass in the room shattered. The window was now a gaping mess and snow quickly began to gather on the sill.

Alfie covered the closer ear with his free hand, and mumbles,” No one warned me to bring earplugs."

Castiel dared to take another look between Sam’s spread thighs. “Sam,” The seraph’s voice is riddled with guilt as began running his hand up and down the cambion’s trembling back, “Your son is eager to come out. All right, the baby's head is already in position. It's all pushing from here out."

“Cas,” Sam gasps out as Castiel quickly takes his hand, giving it a tight reassuring squeeze as the other settles on the dampened curls on the back of his neck, “I-it’s happening too fast… I don’t think I can do it without him – “

Castiel gently runs his fingers through Sam’s hair again, and states, “I know that you are afraid, Sam, but there is nothing to be afraid of. I am here, and as long as I am, I will not let anything happen to you or your child. And you alone are strong, so much stronger than you give yourself credit for,” He smiles gently and says, “I believe humans have a saying: Giving birth to a baby is easier than worrying about it."

"No offense to past sages," Sam huffed, "But the idiot who said that never pushed a boulder out of his - ... _ahhhh_!”

Alfie winced again and uses his free hand to settle it on Sam’s forehead. “It’s alright, Sam,” A dull glow emitted from his hand and the latter’s breathing slowed,” This will calm you, take your pain, if only for a little while. Just long enough for you to regather your strength.”

“T-thank you,” Sam whispers, his fingers grazing against the young angel’s.

“Sam,” Castiel said softly. He wrapped two strong hands around his friend’s shoulders,” Alfie, you’re the better healer, despite your modesty. Help my friend.”

Alfie’s lips part in awe before, he nods in understanding and takes a position between Sam’s legs. “Let’s bring a child into this world.”

Not even half an hour later, a final cry filled the room as Sam collapsed back into Castiel’s arms. “Look, Sam,” The seraph whispered into his ear,” You did it. Your child is here.”

Alfie had briskly taken the baby away, to clean it properly. He returned with a wrapped and quiet bundle, handing him off to the seraph. Castiel goes to lower the bundle into Sam’s arms when he tenses. Black filled the edges of Sam’s vision and the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat. The pain that once burned like fire had faded away to an icy numbness. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps.

“S-Sam?” Castiel whispers, holding the bundle closer to his chest.

Sam parts his lips to say something, but nothing comes out. His skin had turned a pale color, his hair sticking to his forehead as sweat dripped down. Laying his head back slowly, he rested his eyes towards the ceiling above him. His eyesight blurred, but not because of the tears that were welling up. Everything became fuzzy; then he saw nothing at all.

“ _Sam!”_

 

SPNSPN

 

Thunder roared above, lighting up the covered sky for a moment and flashing painful white from the man’s clothes. The man almost tenses almost as if he senses someone watching him and after a second, he emits a cold, mirthless laugh. He slowly turns on one heel, his long brown hair swaying gently in the moist wind.

He has chiseled jaw with a lax, lush pink set of lips set in a thin line. His eyes are a stunning hazel, so much like his own, and he has soft, feather-like brown hair. It was then Sam realized, he was staring into his own face, despite the blatant differences. Suddenly his doppleganger’s eyes are the color of crimson and they twinkled as his lips slowly pulled into a smirk.

“Hello, Sam.”

In a flash, the scene dissipated, and his eyes flew open. Though his eyes are open he can't think of why, so he closes them again, his heart is pounding, mind empty.

“Sam?” A voice asks uncertainly. He felt hands gently patting his face, thumbs running over his cheekbones.

Sam’s eyes opened again, his eyelashes faintly batting against his lids when he blinked. His eyes slowly shifted up and immediately he meets the blue hues of his angel friend. The cambion used to believe the angel’s glacier eyes were ice cold, that they knew no warmth and never shared it. That's what he used to believe. But he knew his stare wasn’t always intentionally cold, his face just lacked the mobility others had. His eyes would rest on a point, even a person, and he'd stay like longer than the average person would.

Castiel’s eyes, however, were anything but cold in that moment. They were warm as a sunned cat as he stared at Sam and gave him a silent sorta-smile. Sam, disregarding his silent smile, continued to stare at him wild-eyed. He begins to sit up in the bed, but the latter places hand on his chest and pushes him back down.

“Rest,” Castiel says firmly.

Sam lays back down and starts to close his eyes again. Even under a light cotton sheet he was radiating heat like a brick right out of the oven. Castiel realized this as he placed a hand on his forehead and frowned in worry. Alfie walks in, gently rocking the baby in his arms. His eyes settle on the man settled in the bed and he asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

“We’ve both done all the healing we can do. What you can do, is settle the child in his room to sleep for a short while. Then come back here and change the sheets and blankets,” Castiel answers softly, running his fingers through Sam’s damp hair.

“Consider it done,” Alfie says with a worried expression, “Will he be alright?”

“Sam’s body is still attempting to repair itself without much success so far. I’ve already lost him once, but I won’t be losing him again.”

The seraph sees no other choice but to resort to hunter methods of breaking a fever, so he makes his way into the kitchen, scouting the various pantries until he can find a large bucket. Then he fills the bucket with ice from the refrigerator and dumps it into the guest room’s bathtub, over and over again until it was full.

The angel scoops up the cambion like he weighs nothing, because to an angel he basically does. He deposits him in the icy water, gently splashing it over his still feverish skin. he human groans softly, not quite coming to full awareness yet – The human lunges forward, a bellowing gasp of air escaping him, before he stumbles back into the tub again, a splash of icy water going over the angel.

“Wh-w-what t-the f-f-fff-fu-fuuuu-cc –“Sam was shaking so badly he couldn’t even curse without nearly biting off his own tongue.

Castiel clings to Sam’s drenched shirt collar, eyes wide as he watches the man cough and shiver miserably. He helps the human out of the frigid water, and helped him onto the toilet, wrapping him in every spare towel he could find. With purple lips tinged with blue and gently chattering teeth Sam wrapped the layers of cloth around himself tighter.

“W-wh-what hap-pp-happened,” The cambion chokes out, his soaking wet hair shaping against his pale face.

“You passed out again with a fever,” The seraph explains, “I had to break it or you were no doubt going to die – Again,” He clears his throat, “I didn’t want that to happen a second time, so I did what… Dean would have done.”

Still shivering, Sam laughs,” T-t-that’s n-not a-al-always t-the s-s-smart t-th-thing t-to do.”

"I was… scared," Castiel says, "I thought you were going to die again, and I — I don’t know what I would have done.”

Sam was suddenly feeling warmer and he knew that he was blushing. Castiel begun to confront his own thoughts and emotions as there clearly was something wrong with him for reacting completely different than he usually did, it felt more personal. He felt oblivious to the obviousness of what these feelings might actually be – Human. And still foreign to him.

“Wait… I died?” Sam rasps as he begins to stand, “I-I don’t remember anything…”

Castiel placed his hands on his trembling shoulders, holding him steady. “Initially, yes. Even with Alfie and I healing you to the best of our capabilities you still wouldn’t… It does not matter,” He led him to the newly made bed, and awkwardly helped him into the fresh set of pajamas laid out for him, “Your body eventually managed to repair itself, enough to where you could at least gain consciousness. There is still a lot to fix, so you will need to rest for a good while.”

Sam felt like a child as Castiel pulled to the shirt over his head, but he was too exhausted to object. He even let the seraph tuck him into the bed. “Cas,” Sam whispers, his voice choking up,”C-can I see him? Is he alright…?”

“Your son is perfectly healthy, Sam,” The seraph reassures him, setting a hand on his head. Still a little warm, but he’d be fine with some rest. He places two fingers on his forehead and a dull glow emits from them, “Rest for a while… Then you can see him.”

 

SPNSPN

 

On April 1, 2009 Sam Winchester and Gabriel’s son is born. He’s just right, eight pounds and thirteen ounces, but most importantly he’s healthy. Though he’s yet to let the world know what a set of lungs he has, for when he was delivered, he only let out a feeble whimper. Tiny fingers curl around Castiel’s pinky. He watches the newborn peer through brand new eyes at what must be such a strange world after life in the womb. His legs kick in a tiny jagged motion, looking for that resistance he is used to the seraph guesses, but finding nothing but air. He wonders if that's unsettling or a relief, it must have been pretty cramped in there.

The angel has been on his own with his nephew for the past hour, fumbling through his first feeding and diaper change with only the help of WikiHow. The other angel had left once he’d assured him, he could care for the newborn until his father woke up. Holding the strangely quiet newborn while Sam sleeps and feeling out of his element, Castiel cocks his head at the thing in his arms. The newborn baby was most definitely not human, the angel could tell that much.

“Hello,” Castiel cradles his nephew, tries to get used to caring for another living thing, “You are rather quiet for a newborn. I am grateful for that, and I am sure your father will be too.”

“I am.” Almost elated at the sound of Sam’s tired voice, Castiel turns around to find him sleepily blinking at them winces as he begins to sit up. The seraph gently rocked the wrapped and surprisingly quiet bundle, before handing the baby off to the cambion, who was eager to hold him. 

“H-he looks just like him,” Sam declared in a trembling voice.

Castiel agrees, “He does. Except for his eyes. He has your eyes.”

Sam laughs softly, although it was almost closer to a sob. He couldn't believe that he was finally holding his and Gabriel’s child – _their son_ – in his arms. A few tears spilled, one landing with a plop on the baby’s flushed cheek, which the baby seemed not to notice. His big, wide hazel eyes filled up almost all of his face and he stared at the men that hovered over him. His tiny mouth opens and closes while his little tongue pushes out from between his pomegranate pink lips.

“Well, I think we both know he doesn't have my hair,” Sam comments with a weak smile.

“He does not have any hair,” Castiel pointed out, gently patting the baby’s very bald head, not getting the joke, “What are you going to call him?”

“Henry, for my father’s father. And I want for his middle name to be Steven. That’s Bobby’s middle name,” Sam gives the baby in his arms a watery smile, “Henry Steven Winchester. Of course, it’ll have to be Wesson on the birth certificate.”

The seraph states, “He will still be a Winchester, Sam.”

“I know,” The cambion murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby’s cheek. The baby wiggles in his blanket, letting out a gentle yawn as he settles his head against the latter’s chest, “When do you think his abilities will manifest? Or will he even have any? I mean, he seems so… human.”

“I am afraid that I don’t have a sure answer for that question, Sam. Your son is special to say the least, for he is part archangel, and part human – I doubt he will inherit any cambion traits for your powers are not genetic, so they cannot be passed,” Castiel explains, “But regarding when he will show any abilities – “

Henry suddenly twitched in his sleep and thrust a fist out of his blanket. It lit up in a weak glow, and the impact was enough to make Castiel’s very-human nose snap hard to the side. The seraph, though not in pain, was surprised to say the least as he gripped his bleeding nose with wide eyes. Sam just looks at the seemingly innocent infant in his arms and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“You are just like him. A little trickster.”

 

SPNSPN

 

Across various states, four portals opened; all from different times and spaces. It is said that with the birth of a nephilim comes strange occurrences. This one was vertically strange - But not unexpected coming from the little trickster. One of these portals had settled in the woods surrounding the cabin.

There is a large, yellow pulsating crack in mid-air. The space around it flashed and a single figure stumbled out. He appeared in the woods, shoes crunching on the fallen snow. His chiseled jaw was tight and his lush pink set of lips are set in a thin line. His eyes are a stunning hazel and his soft, feather-like brown hair is a mess with wisps cupping his smooth face.

This Sam Winchester, who lacks a soul, glances around taking in this unfamiliar place. He drops the axe he forget he was even in holding, not sparing another look as it fell into the snow. He stepped over it and began to walk forward. He hardly even paid any mind to the near freezing temperatures because he couldn’t feel it - He didn’t feel a lot of things.

  

SPNSPN

 

It had been six months since his brother had vanished off the face of the planet. All Dean initially knew was that the apocalypse was no longer nigh because the white-eyed demon bitch was cold and lifeless when he found her. Bobby and Dean searched the convent and the area surrounding it for hours on end until they stumbled upon what looked to be a nuclear fallout. In the middle of it there was a single copper feather.

Dean tried praying to Castiel, but he got an answer. Eventually both hunters decided to regroup at Bobby’s house, at least until they had something, anything to go on. Dean wanted to just go ahead and attempt to track down his brother, but Bobby argued that if their suspicions about Gabriel were in fact true, Sam was probably going to need some time alone. Plus, both of them had gotten their fair share of bumps and bruises from the demons they’d fought earlier. So, that night the hunter tried to get a good night’s sleep.

_Still tired, Dean Winchester blinked slowly, not knowing how long he'd slept. As he pushed himself up, leaning on his arm and pushing the blanket around his waist, he groaned and shook his head once to clear it. His whole body felt sore as if he'd hunted for days without rest. His hands were too stiff to flex properly, and bandages covered his right arm and shoulder, making it hard to move. He turned to the clock on his bedside table and growled in agitation. 1:23 AM Glared at him in blinking red numbers._

_Dizzy. He grabbed the edge of the mattress and closed his eyes as the world tilted. He felt like the floor would tip so much he'd fall, but as he leaned too far to compensate, he managed to balance himself. An all too familiar feeling twinges in his bladder and he stood._

“ _Gotta piss,” He muttered as he attempted to make his way down the hall. The second he exited his doorway, a coppery, bitter scent hit his nostrils and he cringed. “Fuck, jeez, what the hell….?”_

A  _single set of muddied of footprints littered the wooden floor leading down the hall, smears of blood running up and down the hall. At the very end of the hall, the restroom, he heard water running. The hunter pulled out his handgun from the waistband of his pajama bottoms, cautiously making his way the bathroom. The doorknob had a smear of blood that ran down to the door’s frame._

_Dean slowly opened the door, the sound of running water blasting in his ears. White light cascaded into his vision, and the entire room was a mess of mud and blood. Muddy footprints smeared the blue tile floor, rubbing off onto the shower mat, and the sink had bloody handprints all over its edges and the mirror had five long lines of crimson running down it._

“ _Cas-?” Dean snarled in surprise, shoving his gun back into his pajama bottoms, “What the hell are you doing taking a shower, fully clothed, in the middle of the night?! And what the hell happened in the hallway-You’re cleaning that up, feathers!”_

_Castiel has his head back, his eyes thoughtfully closed as water splashed over his grime covered face. His trench coat was nearly dyed crimson with all of the blood covering him, smears of mud and muck smear down his shirt and pants. The angel opened one eye, regarding the human thoughtfully, before closing it once more and turning off the shower._

“ _Hello, Dean,” Castiel replied, his grave voice hinting at annoyance, “I came to speak to you and Bobby but found it necessary to rinse off first, given my current state. There is much to speak of, but first I require a towel- “_

“ _Woah, okay, I’m going to grab you a towel, then we can talk. You and Sam owe us one hell of an explanation,” Dean snorts eyeing the still filthy angel with distaste. “Angels.” He tossed a towel into his friend’s face, ignoring the surprised ‘mmph’ as the angel staggered backward._

_Castiel holds the towel to his chest. “Dean, I cannot stay for long. So, my explanation will be brief. I have to return to the chosen battle field soon,” He gingerly pats the towel to his face and hurriedly explains, “Your brother is mourning the loss of his lover, Gabriel. Gabriel sacrificed his life in order to eradicate Raphael and his army. Though Raphael is gone, he was not the true ruler of heaven, his older brother Michael was. He is none too pleased with current events – “_

_“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean exclaims pressing his palms forward, “Slow down, Cas! Look, is my brother okay or not?”_

_“Define ‘okay’.”_

_“Is he breathing?”_

“ _Then yes. He is okay.”_

_“Good,” The hunter utters, looking visibly relieved, “So, Gabe didn’t make it out, huh? I’m sorry, Cas. I know he meant a lot to you and Sammy. I mean, I can’t say I felt the same way, but he wasn’t as much of a dick near the end.”_

_The angel squeezes the towel in his hands, his eyes casting to the floor. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you, Dean,” He states with a slight nod, “But, I do not think you truly fathom how much Gabriel meant to Sam. Nor do I expect you too. After all, you are only human. But the bond that angels hold with their prospective lovers, to break it is… unthinkable. Death is such a rare thing among my people, that when it does occur it is a thousand times more devastating than any human’s will ever be.”_

_There was a flutter of wings and the towel fell to the floor. Castiel was gone._

“ _Wait, damn it! Wait! Where the hell is my brother?”_

Time passes for Dean Winchester until it manages its own type of monotony. Dean spends his time picking his way through town after town, taking up freelance jobs. The monsters seem much more frightening now that he’s alone. Others close to him still linger, but they feel distant as if they left him too. Dean tries to understand, tries to place himself in Sam’s shoes, but still he can’t even begin to understand why his brother just up and disappeared.

He doesn’t like the places his kind goes when he tries to think about where he could have possibly gone. “A new king sits on the throne of hell.”

The kitchen rag runs down the shaft of the machete, tracing the scars, remembering the hunts repeatedly. Bobby Singer enters the room, his entire body tense. Dean can imagine his expression. The younger hunter has hardly spoken since he got back from the hunt, and he’s worried, so he'll try to force it out. The old coot thinks he understands him better than himself, and before, maybe that was true. But now, he knows nothing. Dean was not the fool he once was.

“I heard you took care of that vamp’ nest in Clearwater, all by yourself,” The stiffness in Bobby’s voice suggested he already knew the answer,” I could’ve helped you out, you know. I’ve got nothing to do around here but look after the phones and gather dust. Are you good?”

“I’m, uh, yeah, I’m- “Fine? Such a blatant lie, but he couldn’t find any words to describe what he was feeling. “…. Peachy.”

_From every corner, Dean’s undead enemies forms a living wall—a forest of fangs and bloody faces scream like animals in the darkness. They've lost their humanity in his mind. His machete cut them down like jungle vines All of them hissing defensively with their sharp, pointed, retractable teeth that emerge from their gums and extend beyond their human teeth. The hunter is deafened by the sound of metal slicing through flesh, bone, organs spilling on the floor until it bleeds into a blur of movement, background noise._

_He keeps looking behind him as if he expects for there to be backup, a single someone to press up against him and keep him alert. The blood dries on his skin, cracks, pulls tight. He is coated in its sickness. But all he remembers are his eyes—piss-yellow and empty, as he turned his back to him. “Don’t make it seem like this will be the last time.” He tries to tell himself that the baby brother he knew isn’t lost – He can't let that be his last memory of him._

_The nest is cleared, and Dean is covered in blood. He muffles a groan at the fiery stab erupting through his shoulder, spidering agony clawing through his muscles with every pulse. His head swims dangerously, world reeling until he collapses onto his knees. He was so tired, but he had to keep going on, no matter how much it hurt. Because he had to find his brother. Had to bring back the one he used to know._  

“Just peachy.” Dean mutters, turning over the machete in his hands.

Dean had let go of calculation, battle plans and tactics; all of the things his brother had once forced him to practice, and let his instincts guide him. All he’d done for six damn months is think, hunt, kept himself ignorant; convinced that nothing else mattered, nothing, then just going on. The hunter presses his eyes closed. Revels in his own agony - that deep, raw pain of healing muscles cramping. Stabbed by his own knife. Stabbed by his own foolishness, and lack of backup. He was still used to having someone pressed to his back, a watchful eye to keep around.

"You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep pushin' like that. You gotta let it heal,” Bobby states.

"I'm fine," Dean grits out, winces as his muscles angrily tighten, has to hold his breath.

Dean moves on to the second side of the blade without hesitation. He’s cleaned it twice today. No matter how many times he cleans it, the blood still stains. He gathers the rag quickly, stood, and turned to leave. Bobby doesn't move to follow him, but he does yell after him.

“Do you think this is what Sam wanted?”

“He wanted a lot of things,” Dean mutters bitterly, not even bothering to turn around,”Look where that got him.”

Dean is all to willing to sacrifice anything everything for Sam. It wasn’t as if it was too difficult to figure out, considering the crossroads deal and well everything — Every single damn thing that’s he’s done for Sam or because of Sam. Other hunters are taking notice of this fact, and have chosen to stay away from him for this very reason. So, when he calls them up for help with some new spell or plan they don’t waste their breath. He’s a little too happy that people know better than to go against him.

But, for the first time, Dean doesn’t know what to do when Sam is suddenly not to be found. Sam _was_ there. He was right beside him for the past few years. Then Dean had died; had gone to hell. Only to come back with no memories of his time there and a world-saving-demon-but-not-demon-messiah of a brother with a new angel boyfriend. Ever since he’d been back they’d had their ups and downs because he’s only human - But Sam just wasn’t. He wasn’t human.

Dean wanted to beg Sam to stop - Beg him to expel the poison he’d willingly consumed. Then a certain archangel showed him the future where they didn’t follow his coked-out plan. And somehow it’s so much worse than his baby brother being a monster. It still doesn’t make it any easier seeing his brother with a set of yellow eyes. Even with the apocalypse train of the rails, he can’t find any comfort or joy because his baby brother is gone. Gone in the sense that he can’t find him, and gone in the sense that he doesn’t even really know him anymore.

Sometimes the hunter wishes that he’d remember hell so that he can he at least have something to compare what he feels too. The demon Meg’s words resonates with him now more than ever, _”You know when people describe the worst possible thing they say it’s like hell. Well there’s a reason for that. Hell is like, uh... Well, it’s like hell! Even for demons!”_

 

SPNSPN

 

The sidewalk glistens under the early morning sun, washed clean by a thousand raindrops and then a thousand more. It is as grey as the granite of the mountain peaks, new life growing in the crevices, tenacious, vibrant - tall wands of green upon wind-blown soil grains, each one so precious to the life it supports. Dean Winchester was walking unusually slowly, almost robotically, as if his brain was struggling to tell each foot to take the next step.

Dean’s eyes settled on a nearby bench and he sat with all the grace of a sack of wet cement. His body seemed to conform to the shape of the hard wood, even his face seemed to slacken and sink as if pulled by invisible strings gently downward. Sitting on the opposite side of him was a young man, long legs crossed over his lap, one hand grasping an off-white coffee cup and the other some sort of novel. The hunter was mesmerized by the yellowing pages with faint rain drops on them, most likely from the faint drizzle that had occurred earlier in the morning – How long had the man been sitting there?

As the man turns, Dean can see the tilt of his nose and the untamed fall of his messy hair and Dean's heart starts beating triple time, because it looks like Sam. That's Sam. From under his messy chestnut hair, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, peeked eyes of hazel and honey. They shone like sunlight on polished stone and hid a wealth of warmth and innocence. The hunter could feel the heavy silence over them, thicker then the uneasy tension in the atmosphere.

“Sam?” Dean finally gasped out.

The man looked up from his reading, one eye brow raised. “Pardon,” He closes his book over one of his fingers, allowing it to settle in his lap, before continuing,”I believe you have me mistaken me for someone else.”

“No,” The hunter swallows thickly,”I don’t think so.”

The man forces a smile, his free hand drumming fingers on the cover of his book. “Gosh, sir. My name is Justin. Justin Smith. And I’ve never been called Sam in my life,” He laughed softly, his dimples showing,”I’m afraid you must be mistaken.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice has en edge of desperation to it. He needs for this young man to be his brother, for the mere implication that he has to go a second more without him makes him feel the urge to pull the handgun from the hem of his jeans and it aim it between his eyes.

 The hunter gulps loudly, and manages to grit out,“Look I don’t know what the hell this is -“

Sam or “Justin” flinches violently as if Dean had raised a hand at him, and he lets out an audible gasp. “Sir! I would have you know that we are in a public park with women and children! You should feel ashamed using dirty language like h-e-double-hockey-sticks in public! It certainly doesn’t make you a cool cat as the kids say!” He abruptly stands, holding his book to his breast,”I hate to be a wet rag but... You should have your mouth washed out with soap!”

“Justin” gathers his things, pocketing his book and tossing his coffee into a nearby trash bin. Before Dean can even utter another word, the man that resembles his brother in an uncanny way is speed walking down the sidewalk, muttering under his breath. His face washed blank with confusion, like his brain cogs couldn't turn fast enough to take in the scene he just witnessed with his wide eyes. Every muscle of his body just froze before a frown crept onto his face, it soon stretched from one side to the other.

Dean closes his eyes and hesitantly prays aloud,”Uh, Cas, if you've got your ears on, we need to talk. I know that I’m probably just finally going off the deep end, but there was this man – He looked just like Sam…”

"Hello, Dean,” Castiel's deep baritone resonated from beside Dean, making him jump.

"Damn it, Cas, how many times? You can’t just keep sneaking up on me like that,” Dean exclaimed, turning and glaring at the angel. The seraph looked at him, inclining his head to the side,”Plus, I didn’t expect you to respond so quickly.”

"I did say hello. You had your eyes closed as one usually does in prayer, but it’s almost logistically impossible not to 'sneak up' on someone in a vulnerable position such as that,” Castiel countered, with a valid argument, much to Dean’s chagrin,”What do you mean you encountered a man that looked like Sam? Did he bear some resemblance to your brother or was he –“

“He looked like him but he sure as hell wasn’t him!” As soon as “hell” exited his mouth, he whipped his head back and forth, expecting a second scolding. When nothing happens he continues,”I mean, I know it wasn’t him because you know where he is, you just won’t tell me -“

“I won’t go against your brother’s wishes,” Castiel says sternly,”Now, describe your encounter in thorough detail.”


	3. Sam is... Cubed

**April 3, 2009**

“It’s not even raining,” Sam complains as his head bumps against the umbrella for the third time. He adjusts his grip on the stroller’s handles and continues pushing it forward.

Sam had decided to take Henry on a stroll through the park that was only a few miles away from the cabin. Despite the fact that it wasn’t even raining, it had just finished sprinkling, Castiel insisting on holding an umbrella over them. But since Castiel is so short, compared to him, Sam keeps bumping his head into the umbrella.

“It was sprinkling earlier, and I don’t wish for either of you to get a cold,” Castiel replies, attempting to hold the umbrella higher over the latter’s head. It bumped against him again.

Sam’s nostrils flare and he stops pushing the stroller, turning to face Castiel. “Cas. I am a cambion, a combination of a demon and human. One of the most powerful beings on this planet,” He runs a hand over his face, and continues,”My son is a nephilim - A literal celestial being! We don’t get colds!”

Point taken, Castiel folds up the umbrella and hangs it down by his side. “I still don’t think it wise for your child to be at this park,” He says with a frown.  

“And why is that,” Sam questions, and he continues to push the stroller,”He’s just like any other baby. Well, I take that back... I mean, no, he’s not like other babies, but he should at least be treated like one - Alfie!”

Alfie had suddenly appeared a few feet in front of the stroller with barely a rush of wind, and a broad smile on his face. “Whoa! He grew a lot," He exclaimed, pressing forward to the front the stroller,”I still can't believe that thing was in your stomach."

The cambion’s eyes burned with frustration,”Stop calling my baby a _thing_."

The angel’s cheeks burned bright red and he rubs the back of his neck, apologizing,”Sorry, I-I...” He clears his throat and questions,”I wanted to come check in on Henry. Is he showing any signs of any sort of abilities yet?”

“Oh yes, he is showing some signs of having powers somewhat similar to Gabriel’s. We probably won't know for certain until he's older,” Castiel answers sticking a finger in the stroller, allowing Henry to grip it and shake it aggressively.

Alfie looked concerned at hearing that. "Showing signs of powers already?” 

"Yeah, especially punches," Sam groans, rubbing where the baby had hit his shoulder the other day,”Um...why do you look so upset?"

“No, not upset...mainly just concerned,” Alfie assures him with a weak smile,”No nephilim has been allowed to live this long, so we really know nothing about them. We don’t know how fast they grow, how fast they absorb knowledge, or even, if they even develop at all. For all we know, they could already hold the level of omnipotence an angel does, but be trapped in the body of human baby... with nothing to do but grow.”

Castiel steps forward, lightly touching the other angel’s arm. “We’ll see you again, soon, Alfie,” He glares at the other angel with his back to the cambion,”Goodbye.”

Alfie gives Castiel a forlorn look, but nods, giving them all a finally departing smile. A ruffle of wings and he’s gone.

Sam’s face looks pale as he clenches at the handle of the stroller with a grip that dents the metal. “I-I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to him. Then, I’d really be alone,” He admits,”Not that—I mean. I know I’m not, not really. You’re —you’re always lookin’ out for me, Cas. It’s just so much, too much.” 

“I know it is,” Castiel whispers, settling his hands over Sam’s,”Nothing, nothing, is going to happen to Henry. Not while he has you with him. Anyone that would ever do him any harm, would stay away from him if they were intelligent.”

 The cambion laughs wryly, and states,”I just don’t get it - Why are you still here?”

“I’m here because you need me to be,” The seraph answers honestly,”And because I need you. We both lost something, something that can never be regained, the day that Gabriel died. When you saved the world, you saved me. And I hope, maybe, I can save you.”

Sam can hear the fondness, the honesty, in Castiel’s voice. “You already have,” He responds as his breath hitches.

 

SPNSPN

  

“...You will snap _the hell_ out of it!”

Justin Smith flinches violently, reminding of that time he’d tried to wash his wife’s brand new electric mixer without unplugging it. “Sir,” He chides, sticking a finger in the agent’s face,”You watch your mouth! If we cannot remain civil, then you can skedaddle!”

“Sam-“

Justin huffs,”That’s not my name,” He places a firm hand on the man’s shoulder and leads him to the door,”Cindy, grab his hat.”

“I don’t wear a hat!” The agent snaps, scowling.

Cindy yells back,”Honey, I don’t think he wore a hat!”

Justin tilts his head over the agent’s shoulder and yells back, annoyed,”Fine!” He gives him a push out the door and wage his finger at him a final time,”Sir, using language like H-E-double-hockey-sticks! You should have your mouth washed out with soap!”

Justin closed the door on the government agent in a huff. How dare that man come into his home and use such foul language! Just then his wife, sweet, sweet, Cindy, had entered the room with his martini; it had not one, not two, but three olives! He took it, giving his wife a peck on the cheek and took a delicate sip.

“ _Rawr_!” Justin exclaims with enthusiasm as he pops one olive in his mouth.

Cindy giggles, and tells her husband,”Maybe we should do more adventurous things? Like instead of pot-roast for dinner tonight, we could have...”

“Mmm, how about we go out tonight,” Justin suggests with a smile as he wraps his arms around her waist,”We could go have a shake and, well, a shake. Come on snake, let’s rattle!”

Justin steps forward with his left foot, shifting weight onto it, before immediately shifting the weight back onto his right foot. He brings the weight back up to the left, quickly bringing the right foot up next to the left. Cindy buries her face in her hands as her husband offers his hand. She shakes her head as he pulls her against him, rocking her back and forth.

“Give the kids down there quite the tickle,” Cindy squeals, trying to muffle her delighted giggles against her husband’s cardigan,”You’re starting to sound like one of those hooligans!”

Justin shrugs and concedes,”Aren't you happy to be married to such a cool cat?”

“Stop that!” His wife snorts, playfully hitting his chest.

“Careful, before you bust a gut,” Justin teases,”After we’re done, we can catch a flick. How does that sound?”

“Swell, just swell,” Cindy purrs,”I will have to touch up my makeup and find something to do with that pot-roast. Maybe we can give it the neighbors? Didn’t their little ankle-biter just have a birthday?”

Cindy keeps chattering to herself as she walks out of the room, leaving Justin alone to flop down on his chair. He leans over the side and grabs his book that he’s been skimming the past few evenings. He was as happy with his wife as he’d ever been, but every so once in a while, he needed a few minutes alone to read about auto parts. And he was. He was happy.

His name was Justin Smith, and he was happy.

As Justin sipped at his martini and flipped through the pages of his book, the walls around him began reflecting an odd, burning orange light. Some kind of energy filled the living room, making him shiver, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he jumped at the sight of a large, flashing, lightning-shaped opening in the room. He cries out as the thing begins to gape like a mouth, a strong gust of wind pushing him forward into the opening with a final yell.

The last thing he hears is his wife’s alarmed scream,“ _Justin!_ ”

 

SPNSPN

 

Justin Smith opens runs his hands on the surface under him, his fingers feeling sharp, uncut blades of grass. He wonders absently if he’s in his neighbors lawn, for his wife had just been gossiping about how they never bothered to take care of their grass. He opens his eyes and begins to shakily sit up, and he runs his hands over his face.

“Aw, heck. Heck, just heck,” Justin murmurs as he takes in his surroundings. He’s in the middle if what looks to be a park and several onlookers are passing by him, shooting him curious looks.

One onlooker, an older man with a hefty bag of birdseed situated in his arms, walks towards him and questions,”Are you alright, mister? You look like you’ve had quite a spook.”

“I-I’m fine. Just a little jolted that’s all,” Justin squeaks, grateful when the latter offers a hand. He clutches his book against his chest as he takes the man’s hand and he’s dragged up from the ground with a grunt,”Right-o, I’ll just be on my way, old-timer.”

“You’re not from around here, are you, son?” The old man questions, shifting the bag in his arms,”I don’t think I’ve heard a fella talk like that since I was a youngster.”

Justin is at a loss for words, and only manages to sputter,”I-I know my talk is a little old-fashioned, but I’m trying to keep up on the lingo,” He let’s out a shaky exhale and runs a hand over his face,”Gosh, I must be flipping my lid! I’ll be saying ‘no’ to the hooch, when I get home. Well, t-thanks a plenty!”

The air was warm, the beams of sunlight glowing on Justin’s skin as he quickly makes his way forward. Flowers are vast, and they conceal the unsightly long, green grass. The pathway is nothing more than dirt littered with random rocks, much to his annoyance. He’d just had his shoes shined the day before, and as much as he enjoyed a good talk with the boy who ran the stand, he couldn’t afford to be throwing his nickels down the drain.

“Dreaming,” He stutters,”I-I’ve got to be dreaming.”

The bench he stops at, looks like the boys had lifted it from a bad part of town. The top was gouged wood and the legs dented metal with chipped red paint. He mutters under his breath, but takes a seat on the bench next to a young woman. She shoots him a stink-eye before looking down at the device in her hands.

“U-Um, miss?” Justin inquires pointing to the device in her hands,”What kind of strange contraption is that? Is that one of those new-fangled computer devices I keep hearing about?”

The young woman snorts, raising a brow, before asking,”Are you serious?” He blinks in confusion,”Okay, step-ford dad. Very funny.”

“I-I...” Justin fumbles with his book for a second, before he manages to open it where he left off.

“Hold this,” The young woman abruptly states, shoving her cup into his free hand. He quickly catches it before any of the liquid falls out, muttering under his breath as the young woman stands up and walks away without another word.

After a few minutes the young woman still hasn’t come back, leaving him alone on the bench. He flops his book on his lap, and curiously sniffs at the cup that was handed to him. Coffee. He takes a sip of the hot liquid and he cringes, smacking his mouth loudly as he shakes his head. No one made a cup of joe like his wife’s.

“Okay, okay,” Justin reasons, glancing around the unfamiliar area again,”I probably just dozed off in my chair... A martini too many. Cindy always warned me too stay off the hooch when I was about to hit the hay.”

Justin opens his book with a sniff and attempts to read it. Just when he’s about to give up, throw his book across the park, and flip his lid, another man sat beside him. He clenches his book tightly, and purses his lips as he shoots the man a look. He sighs and redirects his attention to his book, trying to keep it there when he can practically feel the man’s eyes crawling over him.

“Sam?” The man gasped out.

Justin looked up from his book with one brow raised. “Pardon,” He closes his book over one of his fingers, allowing it to settle in his lap, before continuing,”I believe you have me mistaken me for someone else.”

“No,” The man swallows thickly,”I don’t think so.”

Justin forces a smile, his free hand drumming fingers on the cover of his book. “Gosh, sir. My name is Justin. Justin Smith. And I’ve never been called Sam in my life,” Except by that G-man that had come by his house earlier that morning. He laughed softly, his dimples showing,”I’m afraid you must be mistaken.”

“Sam.” The stranger’s voice has en edge of desperation to it. He gulps loudly, and grits out,“Look I don’t know what the hell this is -“

Justin flinches violently as if the stranger had raised a hand at him, and he lets out an audible gasp. But that initial shock turns into pure, righteous anger. Oh, Justin has had _just about enough of that_ , thank you!

“Sir! I would have you know that we are in a public park with women and children! You should feel ashamed using dirty language like H-E-double-hockey-sticks in public! It certainly doesn’t make you a cool cat as the kids say!” He goes to his feet, holding his book to his breast,”I hate to be a wet rag but... You should have your mouth washed out with soap!”

Justin storms off with a huff and ignores the man’s yells after him. Whoever this “Sam” was, wa shoving him a heck of a lot of trouble. Even in his dreams! He abruptly stops in front of a line of cars, and pinches his arm, hard. He lets out a disappointed sigh. Well, he can’t say he didn’t try.

"Hiya, Sammy" was the only thing he heard as he saw the man’s fist flying towards his face. He crumpled into a heap, gripping at his now throbbing jaw. Another man appeared from around the corner.

This man, one that he actually recognizes, scolds in a deep bass tone,”Was that really necessary, Dean?”

“Agent,” Justin squeaks in surprise, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest.

“Agent?” The man, Dean, questions turning to him with an amused look on his face. He chuckles and motions to him with his hand,”I’ve already knocked him on his ass for you, Cas. Finish the job.”

Justin frowns deeply, and scolds,”With language like that you’re never - _Oh_ , _heck,”_ The G-man presses two fingers against his forehead, and he promptly passes out as he does so.

"Seriously, man? Now I have to lug his giant carcass to the car!" Dean groans. Castiel shrugged, and made his way to the vehicle without another word,”Oh, real mature, Cas! Fine, guess I’ll drag him over there...”

Dean grabs Justin’s long-ass legs and attempts to drag him in the direction of the car.

 

SPNSPN

 

The first sensation Sam felt as awareness floated back to him was confusion. He groaned, lifting a finger to prod at the throbbing right half of his face. It was tender and would probably be an impressive purple within a few hours. Opening his eyes all of the way, he glances around to see he was on a couch in a room he hasn’t seen in years.

Dean sat on one of the wooden dining chairs, arms crossed and a deep scowl present on his face. Shit, he looks at least a good decade younger. Castiel is standing next to him, wearing his old trench coat from back when the apocalypse was still an issue. Sam dragged himself up to a sitting position, adopting a look of confusion as he inclines his head to the side.

“D-Dean? Cas...” But Sam trails off when his eyes land on the owner of the house. Bobby stands off to the side, his mouth a thin line as their eyes meet,”Bobby...”

The corner of Dean’s lips twitched and he states,”Nice cardigan, Sammy,” He turns to the older hunter,”At least he’s not talking like Andy Griffith anymore.”

Castiel frowns and corrects him,”Andy Griffith originated in the nineteen-sixties, Dean. Not the fifties,” When he receives several curious looks, he mumbles,”I’ve been watching a lot of Netflix.”

Sam glances down to see what he was wearing and promptly scowled. He was wearing a cherry red cardigan over a button up and tie he knows damn well he didn’t tie himself. He runs his hands on his face, clasping a pair of horn rimmed glasses and tossing them to the floor. His brother grabs something from the side of his chair and tosses it at him, and he catches it on instinct.

Frozen peas. Sam shoots him a grateful look and holds them against the right side of his face. “So, anyone want to fill me in on what the hell is going on,” He inquires, his eyes flitting around the room.

“Hey, language!” Dean mock-scolds, wagging a finger at him. Sam flips him off.

“We were hoping you could fill us in,” Bobby states, a neutral expression on his face,”But, you see, no one here is convinced that you’re... _you_.”

Sam scoffs and his lips form a shaky smile. “I’m not me?” He glances around the room, noting all of the anomalies, the things, people that just shouldn’t be there,”Yeah, okay. Where I’m from you’re dead, well the version I know,” He traces a finger back and forth between the two hunters,”And you’re a decade older with quite a few grey hairs!”

“Alright, Mr. Rogers,” Dean quips, motioning to the cardigan.

“It wasn’t exactly voluntary, believe me,” Sam growls in response.

“Shut it! Both of you. We’ll get down to who’s not who once everyone’s passed a couple of tests,” Bobby declares holding out the demon-killing knife and a canteen.

Sam grunts in response and Dean takes the knife and the canteen. He drags the knife across his brother's forearm. Blood welled from the cut, but nothing else happened. He uncapped the canteen, dowsing the cut with holy water, washing the blood off. Again, nothing.

“Your turn,” Sam says, taking the knife and running the blade over his discarded cardigan. He repeats the process, and again, nothing happens.

“Okay, so both of us are at least human. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, care to fill us both in, Cas,” Dean questions, turning to Castiel with his arms crossed over his chest.

Castiel opens his mouth, then shuts it, his lips forming a thin line. His delayed response puts everyone in the room even more on edge then before.

"Well don't keep us in suspense," Bobby snapped impatiently.

“I have my theories,” Castiel tilts his head and pauses,”But, I will have to ask some questions first. Sam, what date do you think it is?”

Lines form in between Sam’s eyebrows but he answers,”March 15, 2019. Why - Wait, you don’t think I time traveled to the past, do you?”

“No. I do not,” Castiel tilts his body towards Sam, and inquires further,”Sam, tell me about Gabriel.”

Sam’s eyebrows draw together and he inclines his head to the side. “Gabriel,” He utters with a blank look,”The archangel? I don’t know, I mean, he was kind of a dick-bag when we first meet him. But he more than redeemed himself in the end.”

“Did he mean anything to you?”

Sam coughs, pressing his fist to his mouth. “W-What?” He stutters, his cheeks turning a light pink.

“Did he mean anything to you?” The seraph repeats.

The hunter swallows thickly, and fidgets with his tie. “I-I mean he was a friend, and I’m upset that he died but... we never, uh, you know. He kind of had eyes for Rowena, and she’s a good friend, and, uh,” He looks down, unable to meet anyone’s eyes,”What does this have to do with anything?”

“It’s what I feared,” Castiel concluded, and he grimaces, giving everyone in the room a pained look,”And I cannot explain further without...”

Sam’s posture abruptly stiffens and he says,”You wouldn’t happen to know if a nephilim has been born recently, would you,” The angel doesn’t respond but the hunter continues,”In my world, there is a nephilim named Jack Kline. Lucifer took possession of President Jefferson Rooney and he, you know, with Jefferson's aide and lover, Kelly, who was unaware of the possession. During her labor, a rift to another dimension was opened.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean exclaims holding his hands up,”Slow down, so you’re saying that you got blasted to our world by frickin’ Damien? That’s insane.”

“No, I’m saying that it’s a _possibility_ that a nephilim was born in this dimension, though I sincerely doubt it.” 

“Why’s that, boy?” Bobby questions.

Sam sighs and explains,”Angels don’t take too kindly to nephilim. And if it was strong enough to open a portal to another dimension, that means that it was likely fathered by an archangel,” He frowns, pressing a hand to his lips,”Meaning that it’d be pretty much impossible for the angels in this dimension, not to know this particular nephilim was conceived.”

“Do you know anything about this, Cas?” Dean asks, turning to the angel.

Castiel keeps his expression neutral and utters a simple,”No,” He shakes his head and stands up,”I suggest that the three of you summon Crowley, see if he knows anything. While I go look into this matter further in Heaven.”

 

SPNSPN

 

Crowley heard the usual mental loop of a summon, a slur of incanted words in his head, pulling at him incessantly. Typical. He sighed, and began to shrug on his black overcoat before going along with the pull of the summoning. It was like having a ticking clock in his head that he could never shut off. Not even a damn snooze button.

Summoning was like being chewed up, spit out, and shoved through a damn straw to be spit-balled across time and space. The whole thing was done without even an inkling as to where he was going to end up or with who. He landed, with an abrupt whooshing feeling, in Bobby Singer’s living room. He was about to step forward to Great everyone, when he ran into an invisible barrier; he glanced down, displeased.

"A devil’s trap? Please, tell me that you’re pulling my leg,” Crowley growled, annoyed. Dean stood in front of him on the edge of the freshly painted devil's trap, arms crossed tightly over his broad chest,”It’s a little late for April’s Fools, boys.”

“I see that he’s even a dick-bag in this dimension,” Sam comments flatly, making Crowley raise a brow at him.

Crowley frowns and inclines his head to the side,”Another Moose? Bloody Hell, you’re the third I’ve seen today.”

“The third?” Dean growls, looking at the demon with wide eyes,”You better start moving those lips -“

"No," Crowley retorted, shrugging,”I don't need to explain my private life to you."

"If you want out of that trap, you better open up,” Bobby threatened.

"Always with the threats. Honestly, boys, a little bit of manners could save you a world of trouble,” The demon states with a long suffering sigh,”But, since you three are being so insistent, I’ll share a tiny bit.”

Sam steps forward, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Has a nephilim been born in this dimension?” He asks, his magenta lips still staying parted ever so slightly when he finishes talking.

“My, my, Moose,” Crowley drawls, an easy smile going over his lips,”You age like a fine wine. You just keep getting bloody better with age. Tell me, in your dimension, do we have at least one tryst -“

The hunter’s cheeks pinken ever so slightly, and he rolls up one sleeve and shows what looks to be an old bite mark. “You bit me once. Does that count?”

“Oh, so we’re kinky? I can imagine you in a leather bustier and stilettos, really putting the S-A-M into SM,” The demon hisses, standing at the very edge of the devil’s trap,”What’s our safe-word? ‘Flannel’?”

Sam wasn’t thinking when he let out his boiling antipathy and swung his tight fist, too quick and potent, into Crowley’s jaw. “Shit,” He snarls shaking his hand, flexing his fingers to make sure he didn’t damage anything,”I forgot punching demons is like punching lead.”

“Figured you remember by now, old man,” Dean states playfully, patting his shoulder and handing him the same bag of frozen peas,”Okay, Boris, answer the question.”

“Yes, a nephilim was recently born.” Crowley states, testing his jaw,”Now if you’ll just scratch a fine-line in the paint, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Not so fast,” Bobby says gruffly,”What did you mean that he’s the third one that you’ve seen today? Are you telling us that three damn portals were opened?”

“Four,” Crowley corrected with a smirk,”The nephilim that was born, let’s just say that he’s quite the trickster. Sadly, that’s all I can say for now, unless Sam wants to bring out a riding crop -“

Sam snorts and scuffs his boot against the devil’s trap, scraping at the paint. Crowley looks down and up again, before sending a wink in the hunter’s direction. He snaps his fingers and with a whoosh of air, he’s gone.

Dean runs a hand over his face, and groans,”I really can’t catch a break, can I? At least tell me one thing, Sammy,” He turns to latter and asks,”Did I at least age well?”

“I-I guess so... I mean - Why are you asking me this?” Sam sputters, pinching the bridge of his nose,”I mean, how aren’t you freaking out? Not even a little bit? Hell, I am!”

“With all of the shit that’s been going on these past few months, a little interdimensional travel doesn’t even make me blink,” Dean snorts, walking into the kitchen, not even glancing back to see if the latter is following him,”And don’t worry, I already know about a lot of stuff that happens in your crap-hole of a dimension. Though I can’t say mine is much better off... It was was supposed to be, but I don’t know...”

“W-What do you mean?”

“...It’s a long story,” Dean claims, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. He twists off the cap, but grunts when he feels it pulled from his grip by the latter.

Sam takes a swig and hands it back. “I’m trapped in an alternate dimension, and I haven’t even heard so much as a peep about my other self. And, well, I’ve got nothing but time if this goes the same way it did in my dimension,” He leans against the counter and urges,”Fill me in.”

Dean smirks and grabs a beer for the latter, pressing it into his hand. “First, you’ve got to tell me what kind of piss-poor hunt you went on, that had you looking like one of the dickbag parents from _Dirty Dancing.”_

“Once again, that was the sixties, not the fifties,” Sam sighs, rolling his eyes,”You should really check your facts, before you insult someone, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean shoots back with a smirk.

 

SPNSPN

 

Sam Winchester was roused from his deep sleep by someone singing. He peaked open a bleary eye and saw a silhouette by the window swaying gently. The seraph had a calming tenor voice, that he supposed was his vessel’s, and he wanted to drift back to sleep hearing it. He crept over to the angel and leaned over him to brush his fingers through his son’s golden strands of hair.

"Sleep well, my esia,” Castiel whispered proudly, lowering Henry into the cradle. When he turned back around, he saw the latter watching him with an odd smile,”What?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know how long it'll take me to get used to the idea of you being such an... affectionate guardian."

The seraph raised a brow and questioned,”What did you think that I would do with him? Toss him off of the highest peak to see if he’d take flight? Perhaps, you even believed that I’d lock him in a room with a demon just to see if he could smite him?” He sighs, and runs a finger down the baby’s cheek,”Angels were made, not born, so I would not know how to care for an infant angel, anyway. I am simply attempting to treat him as a human guardian would.”

“I wasn’t meaning to ruffle your feathers,” Sam replies as Castiel scowls at him,”I just figured you'd give up on changing diapers pretty quick. And a lot of other things.”

"A hefty diaper means that my esia is eating well,” Castiel sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. 

“‘Esia’? Isn’t that ‘son of my brother’ in enochian?” Sam asks sitting on the bed beside the latter.

“Yes,” The seraph confirms, brushing back a strand of the latter’s hair from his face,”I see you’ve been doing more studying. You’ve gotten much better.”

The cambion chuckles at that and responds,”Well, I didn’t exactly have the best teacher at first. You know how Gabriel was with well... _everything_.”

“Impatient, brash, thick-headed, churlish -“

“To name a few,” Sam says with a snort, before standing up and making his way across the room. He leans down over the cradle, and gently scoops up his son, resting him in his folded arms,”I really couldn't ask for a better child. He sleeps all night, and he rarely even cries."

Sam leaned over to give him a kiss, when Henry suddenly twitched in his sleep and thrust a foot out from his blanket. It lit up in a weak glow, but the impact was enough to make his face twist hard to the right with a grunt.

Castiel seizes the baby’s wee foot and tucks it back into his blanket, commenting,”I think, in human terms, that would be called ‘jinxing it’.”

The cambion rubs his cheek, and passes the baby to the latter. “He’s got his daddy’s attitude, alright,” He tests his jaw, rotating it a few times before muttering,”I might actually need to ice this. I don’t know if I should be proud or...”

“Disturbed?” Castiel questions with a slight frown. He shakes his head, placing the sleeping nephilim back into his cradle. “How are you feeling?”

"A lot better. I should probably give myself another few weeks to recover, before going back to work, but Alfie’s healing helped a lot. I feel healthy as a horse fine now."

The seraph nods solemnly and points out,”Well, the horse does have nearly four to five times more white blood cells than the average human, so that is good,” The cambion opens his mouth to say something but quickly shuts it, trying to hide his smile,”Despite that, I do agree that you should give yourself more time to recover, which makes what I’m about to tell you... difficult, to say the least.”

“What is it,” The cambion questions, crossing his arms over his chest.  

“We both knew that with your baby’s delivery there would possibly be some complications -“

“Complications? Is that what you’re calling this pile of shit we’re in now?” Crowley growls, suddenly appearing beside Sam, who jumps in surprise.

“Jesus!” Sam grits out,”What the hell are you doing here?”

Crowley raises a brow, and turns to Castiel, questioning,”Should I let you take this one, feathers?”

Sam groans in exasperation,”What are you talking about-“

“When Henry was born it seems that his powers fluctuated causing several tears in the space-time-continuum, making it so multiple apparitions have been sent to our world,” Castiel suddenly blurts.

Crowley snorts in amusement and explains,”In simpler terms, your bloody spawn opened up four portals from multiple times and dimensions.”

“Four portals?” Sam questions, rubbing his temples,”Wait, what did you mean by apparitions? Are you saying that people from these times and dimensions are actually -“

“You,” The seraph mumbles.

“What?” The cambion questions, whipping his head to the latter.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes... _you_.”

The demon groans aloud and states,”All of the ‘apparitions’ are you, Moose. Each and every one of them is a version of you from different time or dimension,” He sticks his hands in his coat pockets and continues,”Luckily for us, my lackies have already managed to round up two of them. And your charming brother got one. If you will, feathers?”

“Don’t call me that,” Castiel hisses, before going to stand beside either one of them and moves to clasp their shoulders.

Sam swats at his hand and growls,”I think you’re forgetting something,” He motions to the sleeping baby in the cradle.

Crowley makes a noise of disgust and takes a large step away from the cradle. “Nephilim,” He gulps, his eyes wide,”Nasty little buggers, aren’t they?”

“That ‘nasty little bugger’...” Sam growls in a mocking accent as his eyes burn yellow,”...happens to be my newborn son.”

“Has he had his shots?” Crowley inquires, shoving his hands into his pockets with a smirk.

“ _Crowley -_ “ Castiel warns.

“Well, at least he’s healthy,” Crowley says, leaning forward to peak into the cradle. He flinched away, recoiling, when the baby opened his mouth and lets out a barely audible yawn.

The seraph inclines his head forward, and slowly asks”Crowley, are you... afraid of him?”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” The demon scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns as his back towards the cradle. The cambion, of course, takes this opportunity to carefully scoop up his son and hold him behind the demon.

“Your pulse is elevated,” Castiel points out with raised brows, his lips quirking ever so slightly in amusement,”Is that sweat I see?”

Crowley scoffs again, turning on his heel,”I am not afraid of a brat that rolls around in his own shit - _Bloody Hell!_ ” He exclaims when he comes face-to-face with the baby in question. He reaches up a hand and clasps at his throat, closing his eyes. 

Sam snorts and places Henry back in his cradle. “Of course you’d be afraid of a little, defenseless baby.”

At that moment, Henry yawns again, and wiggles in his footies, causing the light bulb overhead to shatter. Castiel snaps his fingers and the bulb pieces itself back together and flies overhead back into its place.

“Oh yes, I see what you mean,” Crowley mutters sarcastically,”Nothing but a ‘little defenseless baby’... My arse! You’ve lost the plot if you think I’m anything but afraid of that spawn!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel turns to Sam and reassures him,”You know that I wouldn’t ask you to leave your child behind, unless I knew without a shadow of a doubt he’d be safe. Alfie will look after Henry while we’re gone. He’s just in the other room and a prayer away.”

Sam nods and exhales. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s make this quick.”

 

SPNSPN

 

Sam Winchester flips through a few pages in the dusty old book, shifting the blanket that his brother had laid over his shoulders. The soup in front of him is already frigidly cold, but even when it was piping hot he couldn’t find the motivation to eat it. He’d edged a spoonful near his lips before nearly keeling right then and there. He groans in exasperation when he feels it slid off his shoulders, onto the floor. He’s about to reach down and grab it, when he feels two hands drape it over his shoulders.

Castiel goes to stand at Sam’s side, one of his hands still grasping the human’s shoulders, and comments,”You look as if death already dug its claws into you.”

“Thanks,” Sam huffs, pilling the blanket closer to him,”I thought that you didn’t like metaphors...”

“I’ve had nothing better to do lately, then read from your library,” The angel responds with a small smile,”I’ve learned enough figurative language for a lifetime, and I believe I now have a firmer grasp on it -“

Sam interrupts him with a cough, and he leans over to grab a handful of tissues to press against his gaping mouth. His shaky hands pull away the balled up tissues, now stained with flecks on blood. “Sorry. Sorry, um, it’s just,” He tosses the tissues into the waste basket beside him and scrubs a hand over his stinging eyes,”It’s been a rough day.”

“You’re getting worse,” The seraph states softly, actually sounding like he was concerned for the human,”Do not apologize for your pain.”

Castiel sounds so sincere and Sam bows his head and just concentrates on the congested crackle of his own breath. “Okay,” He concedes, his voice sounding watery,”Thanks, Cas. J-just do m-me a favor... Don’t tell, Dean. He can’t know that I’m getting worse, if he does he won’t let me go through with this and I-I have to... _I have to..._ ”

“I understand,” The seraph replies, removing his hand from his shoulder. But, he quickly moves to regrasp it when his eyes settle on something the human cannot see,” _Sam!_ ”

And then he’s pulled away, into darkness. He distantly wonders if death really had sunk its claws into him. Perhaps the first two trials had claimed him, a runner that would never make it the finish-line, so that he could never complete the their trial. No, he couldn't afford to think that way, not with everything at stake. He would survive. He would, for his brother.

“Don't scream,” Someone’s voice whispered in the distance.

The pain flared white hot, radiating out to Sam Winchester’s head. When he felt himself being hauled back onto his knees, the pain driving down for another attack, he blacked out. And he woke up on a stifling hot bed, sweat cascading down his shivering body in waves. A skin and bones rat scattered past his arm, it’s pink worm-like tail tracing down the ropes that held him to the bed.

Shivering, drawing in shuddering breaths, Sam lay still for several seconds, several minutes. His whole body felt like heavy ice. He tried to move his arm, tried to lift his hand. Nothing. The light above him was so bright, so bright that his eyes stung. It was a struggle to blink. The room was still blazing even behind his eyelids. He panted for breath, so tired that lying still took every ounce of energy.

Slowly the room came more into focus. The blur faded into shapes and shadows. And lines on the floor. They were faint, but he could make out faint black lines radiating outward. Cherry red paint in a room with a hard wood floor. And dark splashes all around him. The sulfur smell in the room was thick, cloying, and he could hear the blaring music, the familiar sound of a room full of people jamming their hearts out.

Sam found himself praying silently to the only one who could possibly help him. ‘Castiel, I don't know if you can hear me, but I don’t know where I am -‘ A woman had suddenly materialized from thin air, her lips a frown, and she pressed her palm onto his forehead. He hadn't even realized he was groaning in pain until the sound registered in his own ears.

“Can you please stop making so much damn noise,” The woman growls, her hand clenching onto his forehead with a tighter grip,”There’s no point in praying. No point in crying for help. The only thing you will hear in return are your own fucking screams, shithead.”

Sam’s voice is hoarse,”Go… t-tth-to… h-h-he-hell…”

For the first time, she smiled. It was strained as if it was being pulled into place by a series of strings. “Oh,” Her laugh is cold, mirthless,”We’re already there.”

The hunter suddenly took on a pale look, as if he’d been painted with white-wash - even his lips were barely there. Then with one feeble attempt to lift himself from the bed he crumpled like a puppet suddenly released of their strings. The bucket of cold water on his flesh minutes later barely revived him. He only dimly sees the little rivers of water that were stained bright crimson as they ran away from him the cracks of the stone floor his face lay against.

Crowley, the dick-bag, was standing in front of him with an empty bucket hanging at his side. “Rise and shine!” He exclaims, patting at his face,”Come on, Moose -“

“Where the hell am I? H-how did you...?” Sam grits out, coughing after he barely manages to finish his sentence.

“What did you to him?” A deep, gravely voice questions. Castiel steps forward from the shadows, and his eyes showed the kind of gentle concern his older brother used to have. The angel laid his hand lightly on the human’s shoulder, and instead of flinching, he was soothed by it.

Crowley objects,”I didn’t do a damn thing to him! He was like that when I found him,” He exhaled impatiently,”Can’t you just work your magic on the poor lad?”

Castiel nods and bends down next to Sam, offering him a small smile. His fingers took on a dull blue glow and he gently pressed them to the human’s forehead. He frowns, and his forehead creases as he mutters something under his breath. He closes his eyes and the glow surrounding his fingers intensifies, so much that the demon has to shield his eyes.

“I-it won’t work,” Sam manages to grit out,”I-if you were m-my Cas, you’d already know that... I-I’m a long way f-from home aren’t I?”

Panting, Castiel admits,”He’s damaged in ways even I can't heal,” He takes the human’s hand and questions,”What did this to you?”

“N-Not what, who,” The human murmurs sleepily, his eyes starting to close,”I-I did this to myself. I-It had to be me... It _had_ to be.”

Another figure enters the room, but he stays at the doorway, leaning against its frame. He had chiseled jaw was with a lax, lush pink set of lips set in a thin line. His eyes a stunning hazel, so much like his own, and his soft, feather-like brown hair is tucked behind his ears. It was then he realized, he was staring into his own face, despite the blatant differences.

Before Sam could make sense of it, his doppelgänger spoke,”We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Y-Yeah, we do,” Sam manages to grit out, before succumbing to the darkness once again.

 


	4. One Sam, Two Sam, Three Sam, Four Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not updating for so long 😂 Unlike the first book I did not map this one out from the start, so it’s quite a difficult writing process.

**April 3, 2009**

 

_“Listen to me,” Bobby pleads, panting heavily, his eyes wide and wild,”You don’t wanna do this.”_

_Sam turns to knife in his hand, examining the sharpness of the blade, as the light reflects off the freshly polished metal. His face is stone cold, not a single twitch of empathy or any other kind of emotion, at the latter’s pleas. In fact, he’s completely uninterested, only caring about the efficientness of the task he’s about to complete._

_“Sam!” Bobby yells, his voice trembling,”I’ve been like a father to you, boy. Somewhere inside you got to know that.”_

_Sam turns to him, his interest slightly piqued. He turns the knife in his hand once more, but takes his sweet time, slowly walking over to where Bobby is tied up. “Well, that's just it,” He exhales deeply, and unempathetically says,”Sorry.”_

_Sam sets his hand on Bobby’s hatted head, and pulls his blade to a semi-circle arc on his right side. Bobby winces and lets out a panicked gasp, and begins to struggle against his bonds. Sam pulls his arm up, yanking Bobby’s he’s dback so that his throat is exposed, and is about to plunge the blade into his jugular. But then he hears it. A slight crackle like the hum of a newly screwed in light bulb. There’s a feeling in the air, like static electricity and all of the hairs on his arms stand straight up._

_“...Interesting,” He utters softly. A few feet away, he stares straight into the mouth of a portal. He frowns slightly, and lowers the blade to his side, ignoring the pleading protests of the man he had once dared to call a father._

_Sam walks straight forward, slowly, mechanically, until he is mere inches from it. The low thrum is louder now, and the portal warbles slightly as his fingers experimentally brush around it. The side of his lips quirk and he tucks the knife into his belt, and bends down to pick up his discarded ax. Then he walks through._

This universe was different from his, but only in the subtlest of ways. This version of Sam, the one without a soul, had been doing his research. Be it by playing catch-and-release with angels and demons, or by simply glancing at a calendar, he’d learned many a thing about this alternate universe. For one, the supposedly destined-since-the-dawn-of-time-apocalypse apparently was prevented in an anticlimactic whimper of a final showdown. And he was definitely surprised when he’d learned that the one who’d prevented it, was the doey-eyed, gullible idiot that had started it in his universe - _Himself._

Sam already admired his alternate self, as opposed to the saddled with a soul version of himself, and he’d even go as far as to say that he respected him. This version of himself, had been willing to do what his brother wasn’t; do what was necessary, no matter the moral price. His brother, every version of his _damned_ brother, was narrowed-minded, unable to see the bigger picture. He supposed with no soul, he had no strings pulling him from one direction to another; he could choose his own way.

Sam glances out the window, at the last tinge of fading sunlight, sipping his drink as he does so. As he flits his eyes away from the window, they meet with those of the small, pretty bartender standing a few feet away, cleaning a glass so her hands are occupied. She raises her brows when he notices his stare, her lips quirking into a tired smile.

“You new in town?” The bartender asks softly, refilling his drink without prompt.

The side of his mouth twitches, and he answers,”I guess you could say that.”

“Mm. Are you planning on sticking around or...”

Sam takes a sip of his drink, gulps it down and states,”Yeah. Yeah I think I’ll stick around. This place isn’t half bad,” He winks and takes another drink.

She walks over, and bends over the bar, propping her elbows up and pushing her cleavage forward. “I get off in an hour,” She offers slyly.

“I didn’t ask,” He replies, his facial expression neutral.

“You didn’t have to.” 

Sam smirks- just a small pouting of the lips; a narrowing of the eyes and a tilting of the head. His long fingers curl around his glass tumblr and he downs the rest of its contents with a light wince. He reaches into a pocket and slides over a crisp twenty, and then leaves without another word.

Sam stands outside of the bar, his hands in tucked into the warmth of his pockets. He exhales slowly, watches as his breath becomes visible in the cold night air.

“Got a light,” A voice inquires from the shadows.

He turns and his eyes settle on a man leaning on the building, his arms crossed nonchalantly with a cigarette hanging between his lips. He nods, and saunters over, lighter in hand. The man fishes a half packet of cigarettes from his leather jacket and offers him one.

 “Jerry,” The man offers, mumbling through his cigarette, still struggling with his lighter.

“Sam,” He returns, setting a hand over the latter’s and gently taking the lighter,”Here, let me.”

Jerry nods, and holds his cigarette at attention between his lips, stares deeply into Sam’s eyes. Sam flicks the lighter to life, holds the flame to the end of the cigarette and watches as the latter’s eyes widen and wash over an inky black. Steam rises from his lips, and he slams his meaty hands over them, his screams muffled through the flesh.

Sam watches, dispassionate, as the latter falls to his knees, still wailing in agony, and lights his own cigarette. He crouches down, settling his elbow over his knee; he takes a deep drag from his cigarette and exhales the smoke in the latter’s face. The demon screams louder, the skin on his face starting to sizzle like oil on a hot pan.

“What t-the f-f-f...fuck did y-you-“ Jerry hisses in pain, and attempts to crawl forward, when he knocks his head against an invisible barrier.

Sam whistles, and kicks aside some trash, motioning to the devil’s trap on the ground. “Holy-oil lighter. Clever little trick isn’t it,” Sam says folding his arms over his chest,”Now, tell me, where are your buddies?”

“I don’t know what you’re -“

“Taking about,” Sam finishes with one brow raised,”Oh, but you do. I spied with my little eye, you and two of your buddies tailing me. Now, let’s do the math, okay? There were three of you, and here you are, so...where are the other two?”

When Jerry doesn’t answer, Sam extinguishes the cigarette on his forehead. “Fuck,” He snarls, thrashing on the pavement.

“I’m not going to ask so nicely again. In fact, I’m done asking,” Sam states coldly,”Here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to count to three, and if you don’t tell me where your bosom buddies are crouching, then I’m going to blow smoke up your ass. Your call, buddy.” 

“Go to hell!”

Sam chuckles deeply at that, and replies,”One - Been there, done that. Try again.”

“F-fuck you...!” 

“Two.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you! _Fuck y-_ “

“...Three,” Sam flicks the lighter on.

 

SPNSPN

  

Sam’s doppelgänger is laying down on the left side of the room, and looking at him he could tell he was at least a few years older than himself. And he has a finer head of hair. His face is pale as parchment and his eyes are slack and blood shot. His chapped lips are parted but only soft wheezes, and every few seconds hacking coughs, exit.

Crowley, the dick-bag, waltzes towards his doppelgänger and dumps the contents of the bucket over him. “Rise and shine!” He exclaims, patting at his face,”Come on, Moose -“

“Where the hell am I? H-how did you es-escape...?” His counter part grits out, coughing after he barely manages to finish his sentence.

“What did you to him?” Castiel growls, lightly setting his hand on the human’s shoulder.

Crowley objects,”I didn’t do a damn thing to him! He was like that when I found him,” He exhaled impatiently,”Can’t you just work your magic on the poor lad?”

Castiel nods and bends down next to his friend’s doppelgänger, offering him a small smile. His fingers took on a dull blue glow and he gently pressed them to the human’s forehead. He frowns, and his forehead creases as he mutters something under his breath. He closes his eyes and the glow surrounding his fingers intensifies, so much that the demon has to shield his eyes.

“I-it won’t work,” His doppelgänger manages to grit out,”I-if you were m-my Cas, you’d already know that... I-I’m a long way f-from home aren’t I?”

Panting, Castiel admits,”He’s damaged in ways even I can't heal,” He takes his hand in his own and questions,”What did this to you?”

“N-Not what, who,” His counter part murmurs sleepily, his eyes starting to close,”I-I did this to myself. I-It had to be me... It had to be.” 

Sam came deeper onto the room and meet his counter part’s eyes, two sets of hazel hues meeting. Frowning deeply, he states,”We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Y-Yeah, we do,” His doppelgänger manages to grit out, before his head rolls uselessly to the side.

Castiel and Sam meet each other’s gazes simultaneously. The angel speaks first, and says,”This is unlike any illness I’ve ever encountered. It’s almost as if... it’s affecting him to the very subatomic level of his body.”

The cambion gives a heavy nod, and utters,”We’ll do what we can for now. Maybe if he gets some rest he’ll be a little more coherent when he wakes up.”

The demon snorts. “He’s been out of it since we found him in a ditch a few miles back,” He says.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam stutters placing his hands in front of him,”So, what exactly are we supposed to do about this? I mean, is there a way to, I don’t know, get them back?”

“My top researchers are already on it,” Crowley responds.

Castiel frowns, creases appearing on his forehead. “You have a demon research team?”

“I’m the King of Hell, feathers,” The demon declares flourishing his arms as his lips draw into a smirk,”Hell is whatever I bloody want it to be! This week, it’s a research team, next week, it’s a damn glee club!” 

“Okay, can we focus?” Sam groans, pinching the bridge of his nose,”Wait... That’s only two, counting the one that my brother has. Cas, I thought you said that four portals opened?”

Castiel turns to Crowley, his eyes narrowed as he grits out,”It seems Crowley failed to capture the other two -“

Crowley opens his mouth the argue, when he’s interrupted by a severed head rolling across the floor. Everyone in the room falls silent as their eyes widen comically at the sight of a head that is now opening its mouth to speak. The demon bends down and grabs the head by its hair and dangles it in the air so that everyone can hear it speak more clearly.

“Where the bloody hell is everyone?”

“Gone, sir... Gone,” The severed head utters,”T-the fourth apparition... I don’t think he appreciated us trying to capture him. He went through us like a car during a marathon, and when the last of us finally managed to wrangle him into the back of the van - H-he sort of dislocated his own thumb to wiggle of of his handcuffs and then he...”

“What?” Crowley demands, giving the head a rough shake, which made everyone in the room groan.

“Crowley,” Sam hisses, covering his mouth.

The severed head flinches, and whispers,”He f-fucking bit a chunk out of his guard’s neck, to make a devil’s trap with his blood,” He goes on,”A-and well we were driving a stolen laundry van, so there were p-plenty of wire hangers lying about...” 

”How in the hell did you cock-ups manage to fail in capturing -“

Another Sam chooses that moment to waltz in with what looks to be an unfolded wire hanger in his hand. “Howdy,” He greets, his lips twisting into a slight smile.

“Bloody hell,” Crowley curses as he takes in the fourth apparition’s appearance. Every inch of his built body has splashes of blood over it, and he reeks of sulfur.

Other-Sam continues, nonchalant like as he steps closer,”And, uh, they did... catch me, I mean. They just had trouble keeping me,” He tosses the long strip of wire to the side,”Now, let’s talk, and I don’t mean tied up with me slurring through a gag. I mean really talk.”

Sam takes in his doppelgänger’s appearance, and he’s definitely the closest to his age. This Sam has a hair that’s only slightly longer than his own, but his side burns are considerably more grown out than his. Mutton-chops, he thinks they’re called. But the thing that really set him apart from the rest of the Sams were his eyes. They were empty, void of any kind of emotion at all, leaving pure cold grey steel staring back at him. An involuntary shiver rolled slickly down his spine.

“Crowley,” Sam demands, turning to the demon,”Help me get both of them to my place. I think that all of us should have a talk.”

“Not bloody likely -“ A flash of yellow eyes cuts him off,”I mean, glad to be of assistance.”

Sam turns on his heel and goes to stand beside Castiel. “That’s what I thought.”

 

SPNSPN

 

Sam was sitting next to Castiel with his son curled up in his arm, suckling at a bottle the angel had prepared for it. Its eyes were closed in content, its wee little lips lazily pulling from the rubber nipple as the cambion gently nuzzles the side of his face with his palm. The seraph was simply observing, transfixed with astonishment at the sight.

“Can you take him? I should probably make some breakfast for our...” Sam trails off before shrugging and stating,”...guests.”

“Are you sure that it’s wise? Allowing them to stay here?” Castiel inquires gently taking Henry from the fold of his arms, and cradling him in his own. He readjusts the bottle in the infant’s mouth, who immediately resumes his suckling with a soft coo.

Sam exhales and massages his temples, before answering,”Both of them can stay at the cabin, until we can figure something else out,” He makes his way into the kitchen and begins rummaging through the cabinets,”I’m not going to treat them like intruders, Cas. They’re just trying to find a way back to their own homes.”

“I still don’t think it be wise. We don’t know these versions of you,” Castiel argues.

“I know, Cas. But I do know this is one of the safest places for them to be at the moment. Especially for the one that’s really sick... I’m hoping he’ll offer a little bit more of an explanation for that,” Sam murmurs placing a frying pan on the stove and turning up the burner’s heat. Then he opens the refrigerator and begins to grab several food stuffs.

“But I know of the other one, Sam. He is very, very dangerous,” Castiel states with a grim look on his face, bouncing the babe in his arms”Gabriel told me about him. He’s from the timeline where he didn’t intervene. I... apparently attempted to raise him from hell, but failed to bring up his soul along with his body.”

Sam freezes just as he’s about to crack an egg, still holding it over the bowl. “So, what? You’re saying he’s... soulless,” He questions with one brow raised,”... I see. I suspected that might be him. I read about him in one of the books h-he left me.”

Henry’s huge hazel eyes opened to look at him as he enjoyed his meal. Sam’s eyes, yet shaped like Gabriel’s. The child's eyes and that gold hair...everything about him was a perfect blend of the two.

“...What are we doing about the apparition that’s with your brother?”

Sam closes his eyes, and answers,”What we have to do,” He turns to look at the angel,”It’s obvious that a normal life isn’t an option at the moment. And maybe, I shouldn’t have tried in the first place?”

Castiel inquires, concerned,”What are you saying, Sam?”

“I’m going to need some help if I’m going to get these people home. So, I need to put aside my own selfish wants, and do what’s necessary to get that done.”

“Sam,” The seraph shakes his head,”You are anything but selfish. You wished for your child to have the childhood that you had. There is nothing wrong with that.”

The cambion lights coldly, and sniffs,”I-I think that by now I should’ve known better. There is no getting away from this life, b-but that’s not a bad thing,” He walks over and runs a hand through his son’s soft tufts of hair,”As long as I’ve got my friends and family, I’ll be happy.”

 

**April 4, 2009**

 

“Hey,” Other-Sam’s tired voice pulled Dean out of his boredom induced haze. His arms are filled to the brim with books and folders stuffed with papers, but he’s managed to balance a to-go cup of coffee on the very top of the stack.

It seemed like everyone had just up and disappeared on Dean like a damn magic act. Castiel had worriedly flown off without another word. And Bobby had assisted Sam with finding books and papers to begin what would no doubt be a long and a strenuous night of research. Dean has just gotten lost in everything.

This Sam, that was so unlike the brother he currently knew was holding out the cup of coffee towards him. He smiled,”Thought you could use a little pick me up. This dimension still has that same little shop a few miles down the road...”

Dean yawned, squinting his eyes at him and trying not to look as shitty as he felt. “Gracias," He grunts, accepting the steaming cup with a lousy attempt at a smile,”How're you holding up? I mean, your situation is pretty shitty man, not gonna lie.”

Sam sat down his armful of books on the table before sitting down with a sigh. He scooted one over and paged through it,”I…I honestly don’t know, man,” He runs his fingers down the book’s pages,”I guess I’m just mainly confused... I just can’t help but compare this universe to my own, and notice all of the things missing. The puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit. Plus, you keep looking at me like I’m a ticking time bomb.”

Dean rubbed his forehead and shook his head. He sipped his coffee, sitting up. “It’s like you said. This dimension is different,” He yawns again, and attempts to talk through it,”The you that I know, I feel like he’s a ticking time bomb half the time. And sometimes I’m secretly happy that he’s...”

“Dean, am I... dead here?”

“No,” Dean replies bluntly, taking another slurp from the coffee,”Not physically anyway. But, my little brother, I don’t know him anymore. Not the way I used to.”

Sam looks up from his book at that and questions,”What did I do?”

“You, you didn’t do anything. It was Gabriel,” Dean explains his eyes cast on the various scraps and cuts indented into the wooden table,”He said he was making things better, that he was fixing things, but from what I’ve seen and heard... Everything goes to shit either way. It just happens different ways, I guess.”

“Why do I keep hearing so much about Gabriel?” Sam inquires with his brows raised.

Dean cringes, regretting bringing the subject into questioning in the first place. “Gabriel is kind of the reason this dimension is whacked to hell and back. He traveled back in time to avert the apocalypse and save you from all of the messed up shit you’re supposed to go through after.”

“So, I never go to Hell -“

“Never lose your soul, never lose your marbles, nothing. Anything that happened after the apocalypse is a clean slate, now.”

“You’re still not telling me something,” Sam accuses, furrowing his brows,”Gabriel wouldn’t just do all of this for nothing - What did he want?”

“...He wanted you,” Dean states coldly, taking an obnoxiously loud slurp from his coffee,”It seems the trickster has had a thing for you since day one, little brother. And he decided to act on those feelings.”

Sam’s face burned bright enough to outshine the sun and his mind scattered like a scared rabbit. “I-I... That’s ridiculous, I-I mean... H-h-h-e-e-e...” He continues rambling, mainly talking under his breath as begins to hurriedly sort through the papers and stacks upon stacks of books.

It felt like someone had suddenly turned on an internal heater inside of Sam’s system, and his skin slowly turned from a ghastly white to a shade of a ripe strawberry. The warmth had now bloomed into a full blown, sweltering heat wave.

“Holy fucking shit,” Dean scoffs running a hand over his face,”Please, for the love of God, tell me you didn’t have a thing for him, too?”

Sam shrugs, trying to hide his face behind a book he raises over his face. “Well, I-I, we exchanged a few flirtatious remarks, but he eventually got together with a witch from my dimension,” He clears his throat and slaps the book down on the table, flinching as he does so,”A-And seeing how he dies not too soon after... There wasn’t much I could do about it. Then again, he’s never really gone, is he?”

_“Gabriel, you have to dig yourself out of this hole,” Sam presses slowly removing his hand from the door knob, turning to fully take in the archangel,”I know you think it’s safer inside. No more torture, no more pain, no more expectations... I’ve been there. You’re nothing like your family, and you sure as hell weren’t anything like your dad. Me either. Just like you, I got out, or I thought I got out.”_

_The hunter takes a shaking breath, and cautiously takes a few steps towards the archangel. “But then,” He continues gently,”Then my family needed me. And this is my life. No matter how many times I try and hide it, this is what I was put here to do. This is where I make the world a better place... A-and sure, yeah, hookers and Monte Carlo sounds great, but your family needs you. Jack, your nephew, needs you! The world, needs you! We need you!”_

_Sam’s lips tremble as the sting of tears begins to blur his vision, for Gabriel doesn’t seemed fazed by his heartfelt words in the slightest. The archangel just states off into space, too afraid to come back to the surface world. He finally, desperately, utters,”Gabriel, I need you,” He gulps heavily,”So, please, help us...”_

_Nothing, but a distant, vacant stare. Sam sniffs, and nods, turning his back on Gabriel and moves to leave._

_“P-pornstars...”_

_Sam stiffens, turning on his heel to meet Gabriel’s soft, warm champagne hues. The archangel’s lips are turned into a faint smirk, and the hunter can’t help the sudden rapid beating of his heart that follows in turn._

_“They were pornstars, Sam,” Gabriel corrects with a lightly amused look, as his eyes flash a brilliant blue._

“He seems pretty dead this time around,” Dean mutters, snapping Sam out of his thoughts,”He actually saved us in the end. His dick head of a brother, you know the, uh, teenage mutant ninja angel -“

“Raphael?”

Dean nods. “Yeah,” He continues,”Well, I’m not going to get into everything or we’ll be talking all day, but Gabriel had a whole plan mapped out on how to avert the apocalypse. The main thing that was essential, was that Sam had to kill Lilith before the rest of the seals broke. Raphael was attempting to take us out before Sam could snuff Lilith. So, Gabriel took one for the team, and blew both of them to kingdom come.”

“And this dimension’s Sam, he didn’t take that too well, did he?”

“Not at all. He disappeared like a fart in the wind,” Dean states with frown as he finishes off his coffee,”He’s been gone for six months, so I don’t have a damn clue if he’s even attempting to handle it.”

Sam has a thoughtful look on his face, his hazel hues staring deeply into the latter’s emerald green ones. “Dean, my Dean, he has no idea that I tend to lean more towards... men,” He admits flipping a page in the book,”Well, he probably suspects, knowing him, but I’ve never outright told him.”

Dean shrugged, trying to keep his face blank. It felt like he was failing a bit at that. “Well,” He finally utters,”Sam never told me. I just kinda walked in on it happening.”

Sam’s face contorted into one of disgust and he groans,”What did you see?”

“Hands, tongues. It was horrible,” Dean moans, rubbing a hand over his eyes,”They were like twins conjoined at the lips. But it’s not like I was judgin'. I mean, whatever floats your- _his_ -boat," He replied sheepishly, looking down into his empty cup of coffee.

“Thanks, I guess,” Sam replies with a wry laugh.

“...So, have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Ever been with another dude.”

Sam lets out a surprised sputter and glances down at the book,”We don’t have to talk about this, Dean. You’re not my brother, well, you are, but you’re not... You get what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says with an awkward laugh,”But I figured maybe you’d like to talk about it? Maybe... Fuck I’m bad at this.”

“You always have been,” Sam reminds him with a sigh,”But yeah, twice. I was with a guy my freshmen year in college. Then years later, I met another hunter, well, he was really more of a researcher like me. He was apart of an entire organization that was dedicated to hunting, but he wasn’t like the rest of them. Unlike his coworkers, he was never a fighter. And in the end he had become too much like me and other hunters, so his organization had him... terminated.”

Dean listened and nodded,”Sam, shit, I’m really sorry that happened. Did you at least get the bastards that did it?”

Sam didn’t look up from his book and growls softly,”Every last one of them,” He turns the page and continues,”All except the son of a bitch who pulled the trigger. We need him, for now, but as soon he’s proven that he’s no longer useful...”

“What?” Dean questions as he walks over to the coffee pot across the room. He picks up the pot and refills his empty coffee cup, sipping at it lightly as he turns on his heel and leans against the counter.

“I’m a carrier,” Sam blurts all of a sudden.

Dean coughs into his coffee and the searing liquid spills over the cup onto the floor. “Shit,” He exclaims slamming his cup onto the counter.  

“Don’t burn yourself, jeez!” Sam sat his book down and threw the latter an annoyed look.

Dean coughed a little on the hot coffee, glancing at the latter with a frown. He readjusted his position on the counter and asks,”What does that have do with the price of tea in China?”

“Grab me a cup,” Sam states, ignoring the question as he runs his fingers through his hair. Then he moves his lips, mouthing something to himself as he settles his fingers back down on the table.

Dean grabs a mug and fills it with the steaming brew, before setting it down in front of Sam. “Are you going to keep me hanging?”

Sam doesn’t look up just keeps mumbling under his breath. Dean blinked at him, then shrugged and grabbed his coffee mug, settling down next to him. He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of coffee.

Sam sighed and shook his head. “You’re not going to like what I have to say,” He finally states.

“Just spit it out!”

“When I mentioned the idea of nephilim having been born in this dimension, Castiel hesitated before answering, which is about the closest thing to a tell he has.”

Dean nods and urges him,”Go on.” 

“Think about what Crowley said earlier, Dean. ‘...let’s just say that he’s quite the trickster’,” Sam quotes, his mouth a thin line,”Six months is roughly the amount of time a nehphilm is carried in the womb. And since I’m a carrier, it’s not entirely impossible that, maybe... Sam, your Sam, conceived a child with Gabriel.”

Dean stares at Sam with a neutral expression for a few tense moments, before he bursts into uproarious laughter. “Okay, Sam, let me humor you. Even if you are a carrier, you do realize that in order to get knocked up you have to be on the receiving end, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam says evenly.

“Uh huh, then how would those two be able to pop out a kid?”

Sam took a long drink from his cup and then looked at Dean. “Dean, just because I’m of a bigger stature doesn’t automatically mean that I have to be the top in a relationship,” He says slowly, trying to bite back his amused smile.

Dean opens his mouth then closes it. He opens it again, then closes it again. Finally he stutters,”S-so, y-you...?”

“Yeah, Dean.”

“...You’re sure?”

Sam’s cheeks burn red again and he hisses,”Of course I’m sure! I’ve never topped, you idiot! Admittedly I haven’t even been enough relationships to experiment...” He trails off, mortified by the conversation, and takes another sip of coffee.

“It’s just... How would that work,” Dean questions with a confused look, throwing a hand in the air.

“Do you really want me to describe my sex life to you?” Sam sighs, running a hand ove this tired face.

“No. Maybe. Well, just tell me the mechanics -“

“Oh my god,” Sam exclaims, burying his face in his hands,”Can we _please_ get back on subject? _What the hell are you doing_ -“

Dean had taken a wooden mixing spoon and a small metal stirring spoon and was mashing them together. “See,” He says tossing both back into the table,”It just doesn’t work.”

Sam shakes his head and slams his book closed. “The point is, that your brother could be at the root of all this, and he could possibly be...” His facial expression falls faster than a corpse in cement boots.

“What?”

“Dean the nephilim were thought to have been quite destructive with their powers, so much so that when they grew into their full power, entire worlds died, causing them to be forbidden by the oldest laws of Heaven. As a result, their powers often affect the human carrying them and labor is... always fatal to the human carrier,” Sam explains with a sympathetic tone.

Dean’s posture stiffens, all of his muscles go rigid as the word ‘fatal’ echoes in his hearing. He goes to stand but knocks over his coffee cup in the process, spilling scalding hot liquid all over himself. He yells out a stream of slurring curses, practically stomping over to the roll of paper towels on the counter.

Sam tilts his head and pauses as he’s about to say something. After a little bit he says,”I’m only going off of what the evidence implies, Dean.”

“He’s not dead, I know that for a damn fact,” Dean states as Sam shoots him a confused look. He exhales loudly and explains shortly,”Do you remember what you initially did to kill, Lilith? Well, he did that, but in a more efficient way that wouldn’t leave him reeling for another hit.”

Sam leans in, sliding his chair closer. “Wait, so he didn’t do demon blood - He found something that would stick,” He blinks and shakes his head, motioning wildly with his free hand,”And you were just cool with this?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

Sam can’t help it, he scoffs. “My brother, he, uh, well, he beat me into a pulp and locked me up like a rabid dog... Not even caring if I lived or died. As long as I ‘died human’.”

Dean cringed at that, turning away from him. He knows all too well what his alternate-self did to this version of his brother, and if what that archangel showed him was even half-true... that was only the beginning. Sam seems to realize what he’s thinking, and closes his eyes, running a hand over his face.

After a few seconds, Sam reassures him,”Dean, look, I understand why he did it... I-It was necessary -“

“No. No, it wasn’t, Sammy,” Dean snarls, his teeth grit tightly,”You’re his baby brother, nothing that you have or will ever do, should push him to do the shit he’s done to you! _Nothing_! But you wanna know the real shitty thing? I’ve considered doing all that, and more, to my own brother. And I would have... if that archangel hadn’t shown me what he did.”

Sam stands and takes few steps toward him, settling his hand over Dean’s giving it a tight squeeze. He murmurs,”I’ve done things to him, unforgivable things, Dean. And your brother has, too.”

Dean shrugs and pulls his hand away, turning towards the coffee pot to refill his cup. Once his mug is filled to the brim, he takes the pot and pours some into the latter’s. “Maybe, but I can guarantee you that no matter what time or place, I’ll always out do you in the dick-head department,” He gently blows onto he scalding liquid, watching as the steam puffs into the air,”I’m fairly sure that’s why my brother was a little too eager to ditch me... he was afraid.”

“Dean -“

“No,” Dean shakes his head, and takes a tentative sip of his coffee,”Don’t make excuses for me, for any of the me’s, Sammy. I mean, he’s right to be afraid, isn’t he?” He closes his eyes briefly, and states,”I’m going to ask you somethin’ and you’ve gotta answer me honestly. In your universe, if you turned into something you’re not, and I knew about it, would you stick around?”

Sam slumps against the counter at that, holding his coffee mug close to his chest, almost as if he were hoping its warm him to the core. “No,” Sam admits at last,”But I wouldn’t skip town so you couldn’t kill me. No, I’d put a bullet between my own eyes, so you wouldn’t have to.”

“...We’re fucked up in every universe, I’m guessing,” Dean guesses, taking another gulp of coffee. He tilts the mug in the latter’s direction with a smirk.

Sam smiles wryly at that and clinks his against the latter’s. “But in all seriousness, we need to get back on task,” He yawns loudly, and quickly drinks some of his coffee to combat it,”I already know what ingredients are needed to open a portal to another universe, so at least we won’t have to go through what my brother and I did. Now, we just have to round up enough to get all four versions of your brother, including myself, that are stranded here to their respective universes.”

“Plus we have to go on a goose hunt to find the other three,” Dean points out.

Sam nods in acknowledgement. “We’ve got a lot of work to do,” He states shoving a few books in the latter’s direction, and tapping them with one finger,”So, you’re going to have to help me out with some of the literature.”

Bobby chooses that moment to walk in. “What’d I miss?” The seasoned hunter questions, plopping at the table.

“Old Man Sammy here, has given me the nose in the book penalty,” Dean quips, grabbing one of the books and pretends to read it, not noticing that it’s upside down.

“Uh huh,” Bobby murmurs turning to Sam,”So, what exactly do we need to open a rift back to your world? I’ve got some guys I can call, if I don’t have all of it here -“

Sam interrupts with a slight frown. “I doubt your guys will have anything we need, Bobby. The ingredients that are needed for this sort of spell aren’t exactly your everyday, run-of-the-mill goat’s blood,” He taps the notepad under his hand and lists off,”We need blood of a most holy man, fruit from the Tree of Life, the Seal of Solomon, archangel grace, and something that has already been to the world in question to act as a guide.”

“Balls,” Bobby mutters, snatching the note pad out from under the latter’s hand,”Any chance we can pass off some pomegranates off as ‘fruit from the tree of life’?”

“Doubtful.” Sam takes a long sip from his drink, and huffs in aggravation.

Dean glances over the list and states,”At least we’ve got you. Somethin’ from the other side.”

Outside the gravel in drive way crunches loudly as someone pulls in. Everyone sitting at the table glances up, and attempts to see from the window, but the figure driving the car isn’t visible. Sam suddenly takes in a deep, shaking breath and a shiver rolls down his spine; something powerful was near. Dean stares at him in concern, but refocuses on the foreign car parked in the driveway.

“Expecting anyone, Bobby?” Dean questions hopefully.

“Nope,” Bobby answers, grabbing his shotgun from the kitchen counter, before making his way to his front door.

Sam and Dean follow, though Dean makes sure to stay in front of the latter, since he doesn’t have a weapon handy on him. Habit, he guesses. Even when he realizes this isn’t technically his brother, so he isn’t his responsibility, he still doesn’t move a damn inch. He curses internally at the weak spot that was every version of his baby brother.

There’s a knock at the door and Bobby swings the door open, aiming the shotgun towards whoever was standing there. Then the seasoned hunter’s eyes widen in surprise and his mouth makes an ‘o’ shape as he slowly lowers his shotgun to his side.

“Hey,” Sam, or rather a Sam, greets with a small smile.


	5. Soulless, Samuel, Samson, and Sam

**April 4, 2009**

 

“Sammy,” Dean utters in confusion, lowering his handgun,”Wait, are you Sam-Sam, or just another - ?”

Sam smiles slightly at that, his dimples flashing, and for a sweet, brief second, Dean forgets everything that had happened to lead them here, to this very moment. “Yeah, I’m Sam-Sam,” He confirms, rubbing at the back of his neck,”Look, I’m not even going to get into explanations right now, man. Right now, we’ve got something bigger than our personal family drama.”

Dean motions to Other-Sam at his back, and scoffs,”I kinda got that. We’ll put it on the back burner... for now”.

“For now,” Sam agrees, a flicker of guilt in his eyes,”Oh, I see you’ve met another me. This is -“

“Awkward,” Other-Sam finishes, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got one more in the back, and another at my house,” Sam says, and then he cranes his neck in the direction of his vehicle parked outside.

All three of them follow him outside, and the passenger door opens revealing yet another Sam. He stumbles out, nearly going to his knees, if it wasn’t for the oldest of the counterparts catching him. Dean shook his head, blinking rapidly, wondering if he should be seeing cartoon birds hovering in his vision. 

“I’m going to have to give you all name tags. You guys are making my fucking head spin,” Dean comments as he follows one of his brothers to the back of the vehicle.

Older Sam points out with an amused expression,”We’re pretty easy to tell apart, Dean.”

“Okay... Samuel,” Dean replies, pointing to him,”Sorry, but oldest is stuck with the full name. So, I guess that makes wobbly-legs over there... Samson. Ironically, of course. Seeing as he’s not exactly the strongest man at the moment. And Sam-Sam is... just Sam I guess.”

Samson rolls his eyes and gently pushes off Samuel, standing unsteadily on his own feet. “Does he think he’s funny in every damn dimension,” He questions aloud, taking a few unsteady steps forward,” _Guh_!”

Samuel grabs his arm and steadies him, looking at him with concern and inquires knowingly,”Trials?”

“Y-Yeah,” Samson answers with a slight nod. Samuel stays close to him to make sure he doesn’t stumble, again, but he doesn’t say anything.

Dean moves to stand at the other side of Samson, but then he hears it. A soft cooing noise as his brother opens the back door. He stops for second, turning his head in the direction of the odd, little sound. Sam suddenly pulls out a wee little bundle, and cradles it in his arms, gently shushing it.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” He gently adjusts the blanket, and whispers,”Shh, hey, it’s okay. Go back to sleep. Go back to sleep...” There was a loud sneeze and the entire car shook violently, and the lightbulbs on the engine lights exploded in a glassy wave of shards.

Sam didn’t seem fazed in the slightest, more annoyed than anything. “You are just like your father,” He growled quietly as things began to settle. He waves one hand over the broken glass, his free hand still cradling the bundle to his chest, and in the blink of an eye, his engine lights are intact, again.

Both Bobby and Dean are staring at him like he’s got lobsters crawling out of his ears because Sam has a baby. An actual living, breathing baby in his arms. The severe neutrality of his little brother’s features melted into something tender, and his heart twisted painfully at seeing him cradle the infant. He was tempted to storm over to the two, not sure what he would do once he got there. He wanted to rant, rave, _scream_. Wanted to make the pain go away, but was unsure how. He was so angry, he couldn’t even see straight.

  _“And since I’m a carrier, it’s not entirely impossible that, maybe... Sam, your Sam, conceived a child with Gabriel.”_

Sam met Dean’s eyes and all of that tenderness melted away like a snowflake on the sun. Pain twisted Sam’s features, and without a word, he quickly rushed away, into the house. He did not look back.

Dean was about to storm after him, demand an explanation, when Bobby’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “Son,” The seasoned hunter warns,”Just walk it off. Don’t need ya blowing a fuse in my house.”

Dean nods stiffly, and goes in the direction of the slightly wooded area beside the house. He sits on one of the many rotting stumps, not moving when he feels a dampness start to deep into the bottom of his jeans. From where he sits, he can see into the window in the living room, and his eyes narrow at the sight of Bobby and Sam exchanging words.

Bobby doesn’t look the slightest bit upset, if anything he looks sympathetic. Or as sympathetic as the crotchety old man will let himself look. Sam is still gently rocking the baby in his arms, while his lips move every so once in a while, no doubt trying to explain just how in the hell he ended up with an ankle bitter.

Dean abruptly stands, and he’s once again tempted to stir into the house. Instead, he growled aloud and turned to one of the many trees, swerved his fists until they met with bark. The shocking pain of the punch traveled up his arm, but he didn’t register the pain. Instead he set about attacking the tree viciously, pummeling it as though it were the very thing that had orchestrated this entire fucked up situation.

After a few minutes of pointless, thoughtless punching, he stopped. Shaking from exhaustion, fury still clinging to every fiber of his being, he slumped over, gasping as he stared down at the ground. He was actually _sick_ at the prospect of coming face to face with his little brother again. How the hell had this happened?

He sat quietly trying to wrap his mind around the mystery that was his brother. Every time he thought he knew something, he didn’t. Just when he thought he understood, he was wrong. Meeting this other, older version of his brother had shed some light on what he might be feeling. But that light was the equivalent of a flash light in a closed coffin.

Then again, Dean doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. It’s not like this was a first time thing for Sam. Lying, keeping secrets, trying futility to keep him out of the fold - Hell, ditching him, again.

_The Winchester family finds themselves in yet another motel room in the middle of nowhere. They’re investigating several gristly murders in the area, all of the victims pregnant young women. John thinks it’s a lamia, but they have no evidence to support this; they’ve been forced to hit the books. Dean is beginning to get the idea that these murders might not be supernatural at all, but Sam isn’t ready to accept that._

_For that reason, they sit across from each other at the too-small table, flipping through ancient texts and newspaper clippings. Sam has his laptop open and they take turns browsing through various websites, switching when their eyes start to squint, and their heads start to pound and their hearts clench uncomfortably in their chests. The internet is graphic, and this case is painful and neither of them really wants to look at mutilated bodies of women for too long._

_“So get this,” Sam proclaims after nearly three hours of tense silence,”Aristotle's ‘Nicomachean Ethics’ (vii.5) refers to the lore of a beastly being in the shape of a woman, which tears the bellies of pregnant mothers and devours their fetus,” Dean glances up, his brow raised in peaked interest,”An anonymous commentator on the passage states this is a reference to the Lamia but muddlingly combines this with Aristotle's subsequent comments and describes her as a Scythian of the Black Sea area—“_

_“No one is making you go you know.”_

_Sam Winchester tensed in his chair, startled by both the suddenness of his brother’s voice interrupting him and the fact that his voice was laced with venom. “Dean,” Sam cautioned, his expression indicating a silent threat,” Please, let’s not start this again.”_

_The older Winchester took a few confident steps in his brother’s direction, and replies,” Sammy, you could stay here, maybe do some online classes or something, ” He stops mere inches from the latter’s face and continues, ”You don’t have to go—”_

_Sam eyed his brother warily, they had had this conversation far too many times, and not once had it ended without a shouting match. The younger Winchester argued,” Dean, I can’t do this anymore! T-this life, everything about it—I have to get away, ” He shakes his head, backing away from his brother until his chair scoots against wall, ”I mean, bottom line, you spend years and years trying to tear through as many monsters as possible and what do you have to show for it? I’ll tell you. A drink in your hand, and a bullseye on your back!”_

_“It’s better on one of us, then one of them,” Dean’s features flashed beneath the surface of his hardened expression and he clearly wasn’t above pleading, ”Is it really that easy for you, leaving dad and I behind, so you can chase your dreams of an apple-pie life? We have always been there for you, through thick and thin, and this is how you repay us? Sammy, come on, don’t go!”_

_Sam sighed,” You chose this life, Dean. Saving people, hunting things, the family business, ” He gives his brother one of his signature ‘bitch’ faces, slamming his laptop shut, ”That was your mistake, and I’m sorry, but I’m not going down with you. Because with this job, when you fall, you’re going to fall hard— “_

_No sooner had the words left his mouth than the first fist came flying out of nowhere. Sam shook his head and wiped the blood off his lip, sighing his approval as though one punch would be enough to vent out all of his feelings, enough to provide some resolve to the situation. Sam doubled over gasping from the second rage-fueled punch to his face; he was well and truly pained, and angry._

_"You okay,” Dean asked, slowly raising his lowered fist. Sam gulped then nodded, swiping at the blood tinged from his split lip. “Sam,” The older Winchester began, "You know I would never_" His voice caught in his throat, unable to even say it. “Shit, I’m sorry, man— “_

_Sam held up his hand, and slowly raised his eyes to meet his brother’s. There was a sheen of unshed tears glazed over them, the rims red as he sniffed,” Don’t,” He shakes his head and lets out a cold laugh,”Don’t pretend that you haven’t been wanting to do that for a long time, Dean. And I’ll admit, it’s been a long time coming on my part, but I’m not changing my mind. I-I’m not normal…”_

_“Sammy—For God’s sake— “_

_“Dean,” Sam continues,” I’m not normal, we’ve both known this for a long time, but maybe if I get out of here, away from this life, away from hunting…” He couldn’t stand to look into his distraught brother’s eyes any longer, and glances away swiping angrily at his eyes._

_Dean nods, he nods ever so slowly and sniffs, his own eyes starting to redden with unshed tears. He replied with a sneer,” Whatever, Sam, just—“ He snatches the keys from the top-small table, and storms out of the room slamming the door behind him._

Dean looks back, and wonders what would have happened if he’d just let Sam go, right then and there. Sure, he’d let him go to Stanford, but for years he yearned for a way to bring him back. When his father went missing, he jumped at the opportunity to drag his little brother back into the life he’d never wanted to live. He wishes Gabriel had chosen that moment to change.

Dean didn’t startle, but sat absolutely still as the source of his torment came to sit in front of him. Sam sat down right in front of him, leaning forward ever so slightly, but he refused to look up. He wasn’t sure if he’d end up punching him in the face or start ranting. He refused to do the either. The silent treatment would have to do for now.

For a tense moment they sat in silence, neither moving until Sam leaned forward. Reaching out, he took ahold of one of Dean’s hands in his own, causing the older brother to snap his head up. The younger brother carefully guided an alcoholic wipe to his brother’s hand, running it over the bloodied appendage. In the silence he studied his brother, taking in the emotionless mask he’d decided to put on.

Then Sam pulled out a roll of bandages and gently rolled them around his brother’s knuckles, fastening them in place when he was done. The action was tender, contrasting with the neutral expression he wore as he did it. A million questions surged in the older brother’s mind, but none burst free from his lips.

Instead, Sam broke the silence,”You have a lot of questions, I’m guessing.”

“Oh, you know, just a handful,” Dean states sarcastically, pulling his hand away from his brother, not missing the narrowing of eyes,”...When were you gonna tell me that I have a nephew?”

“Honestly, I don’t know if I was ever going to,” Sam admits softly,”And don’t ask me to explain why. I couldn’t tell you even if you did.”

Dean frowns at that but stays silent, for a moment. “So, he’s a nephilim? Gabriel’s kid?”

Sam slowly nods, sniffing as he answers,”Yeah, I-I found out right after he died. It was insane, of course, but I-I... I don’t know what I would have done these past few months if I didn’t have something to keep me going. And he did.”

“What’s the ankle-bitter’s name?”

“Henry. Henry Steven Winchester,” Sam answers with a fond smile on his face.

“You named him after grandad?”

A blush worked its way onto Sam’s face, even as he shrugged. “And Bobby. I wasn’t just going to separate him from my family entirely. He’s still a Winchester,” He answers simply.

“It’s... a good name,” Dean nodded.

“Dean, I’m not going to get into why I did what I did. Not right now, not with all that’s going on. I’m standing by that,” Sam murmurs softly, turning towards his brother,”But, we will talk. For now, I need your help to get these people back to their homes.”

Dean’s jaw clenches and takes every bit of his will not to argue. “Okay,” He concedes.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face, asking,”So, do I get to meet the kid?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that, a lot,” Sam answers with a hint of a smile.

Upon entering the house together, Dean found Samson laid up on the ratty couch with Samuel hovering nearby. Bobby was up, as if just having entered the room, and turned when he heard the door swing open. When he saw the two brothers, he raised an eyebrow at them, but didn’t say a word. Even when both ignored the seasoned hunter, not slowing or responding to his silent inquiry.

Sam led Dean to the back of the house, to the spare room the two used to share when their father would drop them off, when a hunt went off the rails. Sam carefully opened the door, andDean’s eyes immediately settled on one of the twin beds that lay on the right side of the room. It had several pillows piled up in a square on it to form a makeshift crib.

Sam stooped over to pick up the infant, laughing when his son’s little eyes blinked open and he gave him a gummy smile. Well, not entirely, there were little crevices where teeth had begun to form. Sam slowly walked over to Dean, rocking his son his arms as he hummed softly.

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean objects as Sam starts to put the infant in his arms.

“Relax,” Sam states, amused. He forcefully folds his brother’s arms into the correct position, then situates the infant in his arms.

Dean frowns deeply, not moving a muscle as his nephew gapes at him with wide hazel hues. “What are you looking at?” He asks the infant gruffly, bristling when the only reply he gets is a gurgle,”How old is he?”

“Er, about a few days,” Sam answers.

Dean blinks at that. “...Days?” Henry begins to wiggle in his arms, letting out soft whimpers as he wiggles his little fists left and right,”Stop... wiggling... you... little...”

Sam gazes down at his son longingly. Castiel and Alflie had been commenting that he was growing fast, and he was definitely aware of it. He gained weight every day and ate much more than they expected. It was Castiel who realized that, although the newborn was barely a few days old, Henry was the size of a six-month-old infant. That meant that not only had the pregnancy been accelerated, but his growing was too.

That made Sam a little sad. His son's childhood would be over far too quickly. In no time, he would be walking, talking, and... The cambion shook his head, sniffing lightly as he focuses on the sight of his brother attempting to hold his son. Now, was not the time to be having a breakdown.

Henry’s protesting whimpers turn into irritated, throaty whines. Abruptly, one of his little feet thrashes out of his brother’s hold and slams into chest with a loud wheeze. Sam quickly scoops the infant from Dean’s arms, trying to contain his laughter as his brother goes to his knees, clutching at his chest and wheezing.

“Kid knocked the damn breath out of me,” Dean coughs out, his face red,”Are you laughing? Sam-“

Sam snorts loudly as he tries to cover up his amused laughter. “It’s just nice to see it happen to someone that’s not me,” He admits, laughing harder, so hard tears start to fall down his cheeks.

Dean sniffs lightly and utters,”He’s gonna kick some ass when he’s grown. You... you should be proud of him.”

“I am,” Sam agreed, before staring in his son in his arms,”He’s... He means everything to me.”

“I can see why.”

Deciding things were getting a little too sentimental for his tastes, Dean wryly shoots back,”Well, he must like you a hella lot, Sammy, seeing as he yanked another four of you from different dimensions,” He folds his arms over his chest and cranes his neck to the side,”Let’s go try and clean up his mess.”

Sam hesitates for a second, but concedes, settling his son in the makeshift crib. Dean leads the way as he begins a march into the living room, when he abruptly states,”I guess you thought diapers were gonna be the only messes you had to clean-“

Sam’s eyes flashed yellow, signaling he’d grown tired of the joke. Dean holds up his hands in mock surrender, but doesn’t say anything more. Samuel is sitting in front Bobby, both chatting idly over piping hot mugs of coffee. They both cut their conversations short, when they eye the brothers coming into the living room.

“Well, my house is still in one piece, some I’m guessing a few things went right,” Bobby comments, sipping at his coffee.

Samson clears his throat, craning his head in the direction of where Samson is passed out on the couch. “We need to talk about his situation,” He points out, setting down his mug, but keeping his hands around it, one finger tapping at the side.

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Sam inquires, concern etched into his features.

“Yeah,” Dean urges,”Poor guy, he’s all shaky knees and bloody noses.”

Samson nods gravely and explains in a soft voice,”He’s going through something called the Trials of God. It’s a series of tests designed by God himself, in order to seal the gates of Hell.”

“Damn, that’s a hell of a magic trick in my book,” Bobby declares, lifting up his hat and running his fingers through his thinning hair.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees,”But what’s got him keeling over?”

“The trials have a nasty effect on the person doing them, since the body and soul are pretty much going through the blender. Not even an angel can set them straight... not from the outside, anyway,” Samuel clarifies, downing the rest of his coffee. Smacking his lips, he goes on,”And once the trials are complete, the person doing them... dies.”

“The ultimate sacrifice,” Sam realizes, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Exactly,” Samuel replies.

Dean frowns deeply as he growls,”Screw that. Why’s God always gotta have a flair for the dramatic,” He shakes his head in distaste and continues,”So, how do you know all this? Did some sap go through with this in your dimension?”

“...I was the sap,” Samuel reveals quietly.

Everyone in room goes silent at that, their facial expressions surprised. Bobby speaks first,”Wait, so how are you still up and kicking?”

“I-I stopped... at the very last second,” Samuel answers, his voice shaking,”Dean, my Dean, he asked me... _begged_ me to stop, when he found out I would be the ultimate sacrifice to slam the gates shut.”

Dean feels his lips twitch ever so slightly, when he sees the regret etched into Samuel’s features. “Sammy,” Both Sams turn to glance at him,”...Samuel, you shouldn’t feel shitty for that. Nothing, nothing is worth losing you,” His eyes flit between both of his brothers,”Either of you.”

Samuel and Sam look flabbergasted, and each of their actions are mirrored as their hazel eyes swell with affection and love, and they tilted their heads ever so slightly.

“Dean,” They say softly in unison.

“Well, that’s not creepy,” Dean comments, eager to change the subject,”So, What can we do about Samson?”

Samuel glances over at his counter part passed out on the couch. “I-I don’t know,” He admits,”The trials didn’t get that bad until I was at very last one, and on the brink of closing the gates. Though, I do have a theory,” He swallows thickly and goes on,”When I was doing the trials, the longer I had to wait inbetween them, the sicker I got. So, since he was yanked out of his dimension-”

“He can’t go on to the next trial,” Sam finishes, nodding grimly.

Dean’s eyes narrow and he demands,”So, what? He’ll just keep getting worse and worse until...”

“His body waves a white flag,” Bobby says, his expression darkening in realization.

“We have to find a way to get him home, now,” Sam states firmly, his mouth a thin line,”At least then, he’ll get to choose if he lives or dies.”

Dean speaks up,”We’ve already got a spell, and all we need, now, are the ingredients.”

“...Let’s get to work.”

 

SPNSPN

 

_“Dean,” Sam exclaims amidst brushing his latest conquest’s hair out of her face. His lips twitch into a lazy attempt at a smile, but his brother doesn’t seem amused, whatsoever._

_Dean sweeps his arms across the room and growls,”What the hell?”_

_The hippie chick that was sprawled over him makes on a ‘oh’ face and cheerfully asks,”Oh, that’s Dean?” She smiles dreamily and tightens her arms around her sexual partner’s shoulder blades,”Sam, they brought your brother back.”_

_Awkward silence ensues as the hippie chick crawls off of him, and begins to pull her scattered clothes back on. She takes her sweet, little time, waltzing about the motel room, gathering the rest of her things. And then she finally grabs her vintage boots and typical hippie purse, before making her way towards the doorway of their motel room._

_“Okay,” She sighs, running her fingers through her hair,”It’s alright, Sam. I so totally understand. You need time as a family.”_

_Dean glances up at that, his facial expression murderous. But as the hippie chick comes his way, he just purses his plush lips and keeps his gaze down. Then he smiles awkwardly, keeping his eyes squeezed shut when she shoots him a tiny, warm smile._

_Then she spins on her heel and squeaks out,”But, it’s just... What were they like?_

_Dean scowls, his face twisting in annoyance, and spits out,”They were grabby, incandescent douchebags. Good night.”_

_The hippie chick chuckles lightly and murmurs,”Too soon. Okay,” And then the door is promptly slammed in her face._

_Sam frowns deeply, and utters,”You’re upset...”_

_Dean turns on his heel, pointing an acusing finger at his brother as he grits out,”I was abducted. And you were banging Patchouli.”_

_“I didn’t think she smelled that bad.”_

_“I was abducted by aliens!”_

_“I was looking into it,” Sam retorts._

_Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and he shouts,”Looking into it! I was gone for, like, an hour!”_

_“An hour-“_

_“And most of that was walking back into town!”_

_Sam states,”Dean, I think your watch is off. You’ve been gone all night.”_

_“What are you talking about? No I haven’t. Four a.m.?”_

_“Yeah! UFO time slip,” Sam exclaims, looking way to excited,”That actually falls in line with a lot of abduction stories.”_

_“Falls in line...”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Nothing’s falling in line.”_

_Sam stands up and pours Dean a drink, awkwardly holding it out to him. “Here. Drink. Good.”_

_“Thank you,” Dean says, taking the offered glass._

_Sam nods and takes a seat beside him on the bed, stating,”Yeah. Now. Come on. Talk to me. What happened?”_

_“Well, uh, there was this...” Dean groans aloud,”God help me, Sam, there was this bright white light!”_

_“It’s okay,” Sam gives him a tight lipped smile, and pats his leg. Dean looks at him incredulously,”Safe room.”_

_“And then suddenly, I was, uh, I was in a different place. And there were these beings, and they were too bright to look at, but I could feel them pulling me towards this sort of table—“_

_“Probing table!”_

_“God,” Dean yells,”Don’t say that out loud!”_

Sam _looks vaguely confused, not getting what he did wrong. He shakes his head and goes on,”Right. So what did you do?”_

_“I went crazy. I started hacking and slashing and firing,” Dean chuckles, a prideful look on his face,”They actually seemed surprised. I don’t think anybody’s ever done that before. Yeah. I had a close encounter, Sam, and I won.”_

_“...You should take a shower.”_

_“I should take a shower. I’m gonna, I’m gonna take a shower now.”_

Castiel sighs, setting down the book titled ‘Supernatural: Clap Your Hands If You Believe’. Sam hadn’t deemed it necessary to give Michael any of the books that take place after the apocalypse. The seraph had decided to try and learn as much about this soulless character as he could, for he didn’t lack to be lacking in knowledge when faced with a possible foe. Castiel feels another being enter the room and looks up to see the very version of Sam he’d just been reading about.

“Weird. The Castiel in my dimension isn’t exactly very... homey towards me. In fact, he’s quite the opposite. A real feathery thorn in my side,” Soulless comments,”I mean, he wasn’t exactly my biggest fan before, but when my soul took a stroll down hellfire lane...”

Castiel narrows his eyes, setting the book aside. “Perhaps it is because you do not deserve such kindness,” He retorts, not even attempting to hide the venom in his voice,”The things you’ve done... The people you’ve hurt... Sam, the real Sam, he would never, ever -“

“I am Sam. And Sam I am,” Soulless interrupts, his eyes lazily swiveling to the pile of books at the latter’s side,”Reading up on me? That’s cute, real cute, Cas. Kind of teeter-tottering on the creepy side there. While I am flattered-“

“I would never...!” Castiel exclaims, his cheeks burning red.

Soulless chuckles lightly,”Relax, Clarence. I was just yanking your feathers.”

Castiel narrows his eyes dangerously, and turns away to walk out of the room, when he hears Soulless say,”...Don’t tell me you’re actually sweet on him?”

“...I-I don’t...” The seraph shakes his head in confusion.

Soulless rolls his eyes and tries,”...have a sweet spot for...”

Another head shake.

“...carry a torch for...”

Soulless made his way through the room, when the walls around him began reflecting an odd, flickering golden light. A strange kind of energy filled the room, making the many book’s pages flutter, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he jumped at the sight of a large pulsating crack in mid-air. Castiel, who was right beside him, also sees this and tenses.

“...Again,” Soulless grunts out.

The space around it flashed and the next thing Sam knew, a single figure entered the room. He appeared before them, in all his grandeur. A crisp white jacket with an slightly off-white button up. His chiseled jaw was with a lax, lush pink set of lips set in a thin line. His eyes a stunning hazel, so much like his own, and his soft, feather-like brown hair is tucked behind his ears. It was then Sam realized, he was staring into his own face, despite the blatant differences.

Before Soulless could make sense of it, his counterpart began to walk towards Soulless, seemingly taking no notice of the angel. He didn't make a sound, but he didn't have to. Neither Soulless or Castiel were prepared to fight, and they had not idea what they were up against, so the human held his hands out in surrender with the angel slowly starting to imitate him.

His counterpart’s voice was that of a spoiled, rich boy, honeyed and proud. “Castiel,” The one word he uttered sounded beautiful, but neither the angel or the human felt compassion or trust for the speaker. A snap of his fingers, a bright flash of light that enveloped the angel’s body, and Castiel was gone.

Soulless flinches, shielding his eyes, before staring at the area where the angel had stood mere seconds ago. He quickly moves his hand to his back, reaching for the gun situated there, and he quickly raises it to aim at the invader. He allowed his finger to curl around the trigger and frowned grimly.

The latter inclined his head forwards, his eye-brows raised in a questioning manner. His facial expression was one of absolute disinterest. He sighed. To him, Soulless was less than the mud on his over-shined shoes. After a moment, the silent stand-off was won when his doppelgänger utters,”Put the gun to your forehead.”

Soulless grunts as he felt his own gun push against his temple, and the hand holding it was trembling, trying to fight whatever force was willing it. His doppelgänger casually situated his body against one of the wooden bookshelves with a face of utter nonchalance, as if he were merely waiting for a bus on a spring day, apple in hand. He isn't slumped at all, his body is clearly too muscular for that, yet it is just as relaxed as his face. He's almost smiling – an expression as if something good were about to happen. Good for him is likely bad for Soulless. Very bad. 

“Walk through the portal,” His doppelgänger states.

“Listen, sharp-dressed man,” Soulless snarls, the gun shaking in his hand,”If you think I’m going to - - _aghhhh_!”

The hunter clattered to the ground as pain took him to his knees, ripping through him, doubling him over. Still leaning on the book case, lax expression still on his face, his look-a-like stares at him, watching as he clutched his arms across his abdomen, vomiting blood, choking on it. Fire burned through every inch of him. The pain consumed him, took his breath away from his lungs. 

“Walk through the portal,” His doppelgänger repeats, his voice calm, almost gentle.

“No,” He managed with all of his strength. The gun was still in his hand, he couldn’t find the strength to let go of it.

The look-a-like leaves his spot on the book case, and crouches over Soulless, his finger tracing up the side of his stomach. The shock of the pain made him clench his teeth, even though he had no intention of giving the satisfaction of the latter seeing how much it hurt. Every muscle in his body locked rigid with the agony of the finger against his side. His mind was filled with the want of having it off him. His doppelgänger pushed the slightest bit harder, making him spit up through his locked teeth. He heard a pop, and felt a couple of ribs crack.

His doppelgänger moved his finger away; warm blood oozed down his side. Soulless was covered in sweat as he lay on the hard wood floor, panting, sweat running down his eyes. He felt as if the pain was pulling every muscle in his body apart. And finally, he gave in, seeing no other option.

“F-f-fuck... Okay. You hear me,” Soulless snarls, panting heavily,”I tap out.” 

“You’re more resilient than others, I’ll give you that,” His counterpart purrs, his lips quirking in the slightest hint of amusement,”Like a rat clawing its way through one’s intestines to escape fire.”

With great difficulty, the hunter rose to his feet and walked towards the portal. His look-a-like watched him without emotion as he stood looking up at him. He waited in silence. Then Soulless stumbled, and fell limp against the latter’s hard, muscled chest. Clearly unamused, his counterpart laced his fingers through his hair, he was yanked back up and shoved into the direction of the portal.

“If you fall, again, if you even stumble,” His look-a-like’s voice was chilling as he issued the threat,”I swear to dear old dad, I’ll just drag your still warm corpse through that portal.” 

Soulless couldn’t help his bloody smile,”You aren’t going to kill me, you obviously need me-“

“Put the gun to your head, and pull the trigger,” His doppelgänger orders softly. 

There was a resounding gunshot, and the casing of a bullet’s shell clattered on the ground. Soullless’ body fell to the ground with a loud ‘thud’, a pool of blood quickly seeping from the gaping hole in his temple. The doppelgänger, inclined his head forward, his lips peeking ever so slightly into a smirk. He snapped his fingers again, and Soulless’ limp corpse levitated into the air and began going towards the portal.


	6. The True King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so, so, so sorry about horrible I’ve been about updating 😂 I’m participating in the Sam Winchester Big Bang again so I’ve been very busy with that.

Lucifer walked down the winding cobblestone steps, leading into the main throne room, his plush lips twisting violently into a sneer. He hears the hurried, terrified whispers of his kingdom in the walls, fading into the distance and falling into the cavernous pits. The tortured screams had seemingly halted, and for the first time since the beginning, hell was silent and waiting.

“You cannot hide from me, not here,” Lucifer asseverates with an imperceptible tilt of his head,”Not in my kingdom. Do my children scurry, fearing their absent father? I have been long, long gone, trapped in the dark right under your noses. But I am free, free at last. Now, I have reclaimed my throne from a usurper, a false king meant to lead you astray. I am here, now, yet I am not greeted with love nor praise, but pure, unbridled fear.”

Voices hiss and whisper in the darkness down, down, down deep, spiraling into nothingness. The sulfuric fires extinguished, the rumbling stone stilled, the waves upon, upon waves of demons, that create a sea of inky black, go eerily still. All of hell listens attentively.

“You, all of you, you fear me. You fear a master who has never shown his face. The one behind the man holding the whip. You are rightfully afraid, but fear, fear is good, my children. Fear is the fastest way to compliance. But I do not want your compliance or silence,” Lucifer announces, folding his hands behind his back, an easy smile gracing his lips,”No, I want something more. For far, far too long I have been trapped in a cage of my father’s making, as have you, my children. Sentenced to burn for some measly earthly sins. Tell me, my children, does the punishment fit the crime?”

The whispers grow louder, unsure, but steadily growing. Lucifer gently presses his palm to the heated stone, drumming his frigid fingers against it. The voices fall, and he goes on. He exhales, his lips forming an almost mocking smile, his breath misting.

“You are all disgustingly human, even behind these twisted masks you wear. Who knows you better than I? I know all of your sins, but I do not fault you for them, I bear you no ill will - You are human, therefore you are sin. It is not on your heads, nor mine, but on the one who made you this way,” Lucifer croons, his voice warm and empathetic,”It is in your nature to stumble, to fall, to do what you want, though it may not necessarily be right. But is that in itself wrong? No. Do we punish carnivores for feasting on meat, though they must take another’s life to satisfy their own hunger? No because it is in their nature.”

_Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer..._ The voices hiss, calling to their father, their maker, the one who would free them from their cages.

“You want to break free as I did. Free of the pain, the guilt, the sorrow, and the punishment that follows it all... I say no more. No more! No more will you suffer for your sins, for your downfalls as a human,” Lucifer roars raising his hands high, and the very depths of his kingdom quiver, the foundations shaking,”No human is better than another. My children, you are all monsters. But that word has been twisted by weak minded men, by those who would bend the knee, to a god who would condemn them for what they are. For the way they were made. They fall in line, while you, my children, divide it. No, monsters, they’re the strongest of all the creatures that walk above and below earth - Because they’ve suffered the most, they’ve earned what they’ve taken. Nothing was ever given to you... so you have been forced to take it. Take it. Your flaws are your greatest powers, your source of strength, your sword and shield. Use them! Take what is yours - Pilege, rape, steal, until the ones who made you slither on your belly’s fall... just as you did. Oh, and how they’ll fall, they’ll fall just as all humans do. Because that is their nature...”

 _Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer..._. The voice cry for him, scream for him, their true king is on the throne at last!

“My children, go. Go your own way,” Lucifer decrees, waving his hand as he turns on his heel and begins to walk towards the great throne at the head of the room. He runs his vessel’s hand over one side of it, his nails chipping at the bundled bones and stone that make up the structure,”If you want something... you take it. It’s as simple as that.”

Lucifer sighs deeply as he sinks into the chair, the rigid and brittle bones that form the sharp winged back, making it nearly impossible to sit back in. The archangel remembers the early construction of this throne, when he’d fused the bones of Adam and Eve to the first foundations of hell, raising it from the ground, and watching it twist into the mutilated structure he sat in presently. Formed of the bones of his first enemies, he sat on their remains, while he, like a serpent, had merely shed his previous skin.

“You tried to discard my throne, dog,” Lucifer states coldly, his gaze flickering to the cowering demon in the corner, that was currently lapping at the bloodied floor with his tongue.

Crowley lifted his head, his tongue resting in his mouth as he utters,”Well, to be frank, it was a pain in the ass.”

Lucifer chuckles at that, his deep laughter booming down the torch lit halls. “A throne, a true throne, should not be comfortable. A king should not sit easy,” He purrs softly, lazily crossing his ankles as he splays his arms over either side of the throne,”Hellhound got your tongue? Speak with respect, dog.”

“Y-You..,” Crowley spits out at that last, before sinking again, keeping his gaze to the floor,”...y-your grace.”

“Oh, mouthy little child of mine,” Lucifer let’s out a long suffering sigh and rolls his eyes,”Whatever will I do with you? What punishment can I bestow that will be worse than rotting in the pits of hell itself?”

Crowley bows his head,”Forgive me, your grace. Allow me to return to my chores -“

“No,” Lucifer states plainly, combing his fingers through his long hair,”I fear that forgiveness is not in my nature, but retribution - Paying for what you’ve done, piece by piece, why that’s the whole basis of hell, is it not?”

The demon licks his dry, quivering lips and chokes out,”And that whole spiel you just gave your plebes?”

The archangel smiles at his words, his dazzlingly white teeth more like fangs than canines. “Something to stoke the fire,” He utters cooly,”A few pokes with an iron and the embers turn to fire. And fire is just what I need.”

“Your grace -“

“No more idle chat. Go retrieve my guest, see if he wants to earn some scraps. He may not have a soul, but he does have a stomach, that is not doubt growling and burning with hunger by now.”

Crowley bows, again, brushing his hands over his pants legs, and making his way down the dimly lit hallway. With Lucifer’s blessing, the other demons in hell were stirring up a storm, no doubt planning something poor in taste. He’d thought hell had evolved past flaying and meat hooks, but the rest of his kind had happily gone back to their past ways. No doubt, his eminence, was already doing away with the Wi-Fi.

Sam, or rather his soulless counterpart, was passed out in his cell, his face a mess of caked on blood and dirt. His lips are parted ever so slightly, and he’s muttering to himself, his head twitching. Crowley grabs the bucket of water set beside the barred door and tosses its contents over the sleeping body, smirking as he flails and comes screaming to life.

“Mhmm,” Soulless’ fingers comb through his greasy hair, his nails digging at the dried blood,”With all these scars I’m accumulating, I’m gonna need all the beauty sleep I can get.”

“Ah, dry and witty as usual. So, so refreshing,” Crowley sighs,”I see you’ve been having a grand ‘ol time.”

Soulless sits up and lays his back against the stone wall, his hazel eyes cool and calculating, flickering over his surroundings. “Well, when I didn’t seeing any busty blondes patrolling with riding crops, I was just relieved that I was in hell, not Dean’s sex dungeon,” He stands up in shaky legs, grimacing and brushing his hand over his temple,”Bad news is, I’ve already been spit out of this dump once - Don’t know if I can pull the same feat twice -“

Crowley huffs and states,”We do not have time for your damn motor mouth! Your bosom buddy has seized hell by the shirt and curlies! These bloody demons turned on me faster than bad clams,” He goes on, motioning for the human to move forward,”I’m just lucky it took a damn while for your sharp-dressed counterpart to bring _my_ kingdom to its damn knees. Demons are stubborn, until they realize the being they’re mocking has a few inches on them.”

“How are you still kicking? I figured he wouldn’t take too lightly to a potential usurper,” Soulless drawls slowly, attempting to make his way forward, only to fall right into the demon.

Crowley shoves him ahead of him, snarling,”I’m no threat to him, and he knows it. What little loyalty I had was gone the second he opened those pretty little lips of his,” He goes on, licking at his lips,”He will kill me, eventually. He thought it would be fun to toy with me first - Wind me up, and watch me go. Or ‘pay for what I’ve done’ as he says.”

Soulless doesn’t bother to feign concern and changes the subject,”Seeing as you haven’t made any decisive actions, I’m taking that you’re hoping I’ve got a plan,” He scoffs at the latter’s silence,”It’s comforting to see you the same in every damn universe. If Clarence is still up and kicking, I may have something.”

“I’ve only heard whispers,” Crowley admits,”I heard at the water cooler that he’s being guarded by some particularly ill-breed hell hounds. Specially cooked up by the royal highness himself.”

Soulless groans and winces, stumbling. “Crowley, how long have I been here? I know time flies in hell, but...”

“In hell time, about two months.”

“...two...” Soulless seethes, his nostrils flaring,”So it’s been... roughly eight hours or so topside?”

Crowley grabs his shoulders and holds him steady, paying attention to the way the latter’s body tenses,”Correct.”

“Angels don’t fare too well in hell,” Soulless points out irritated,”Cas is our only way out, at the moment, and we can’t afford to lose him. We need to find him, and soon. We still have no idea what that bastard’s game is, and I have no intention to stay long enough to find out.”

  

**April 5, 2009**

 

Samuel huffs softly as he fiddles with the bottle. Henry whines and wiggles in his arms, his balled fists gently pushing against his chest. He attempts to push the rubber nipple past the babe’s lips, but they’re stubbornly pressed into a firm line; almost as if he knows that this is not his true father feeding him.

“Come on,” Samuel pleads softly.

Henry whimpers and the fists pushing against his chest start to glow dully. Samuel groans aloud and holds him as a safe distance from himself as the fists start flying. He thinks he’s safe until a tiny foot catches him in the shoulder, and he stumbles back a few inches, barely managing to catch himself.

There’s a sudden ruffle of feathers, and then someone is in front of him, screaming in his face,”Sam! Oh thank father, it’s C-Cas...!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Samuel exclaims in alarm, adjusting the baby to settle in the crease of elbow and addresses the angel,”Wrong Sam.”

“Oh,” The angel murmurs, his eyes wide and blinking dumbly at him,”Well, do you know where _my_ Sam is? It’s a huge, massive, potentially world-ending, emergency.”

Samuel winces as the baby gurgles and pinches his elbow. “Yeah, we get those a lot. Ow. Yeah, he’s, ow, sleeping,” He winces again as small fingers dig at the flesh at the base of his elbow,”I don’t think he likes me.”

“He doesn’t like anyone, save for his father,” The angel chuckles, setting his hands on his hips as he leans down and coos at the baby, dodging a foot,”Oh! Sorry for my rudeness, I’m Samandriel - But you can call me Alfie! Way too many Sam’s at the moment, don’t you think - Wait, emergency!”

“I, uh, know an Alfie, you know, different universe and all,” Sam watches as the angel anxiously darts down the hall, and he clears his throat and yells after him,”Door on the left - Ow! Gah, that one _really hurt.”_

 _“_ Thank you,” Alfie shoots over his shoulder, before charging into the room with all the grace and speed of a shot gazelle,”Sam! Sam! Sam!”

Sam’s bed jumps three feet into the air, and crashes back down, shaking the entire floor, as he bolts up with his yellow eyes flashing. “Wha...?” He murmurs sleepily, his hair sticking in three different directions,”Alfie? What’re you...”

“It’s Castiel! I went to the house to see how he was doing alone with your counterpart, but they’re both gone - Gone, Sam!”

“Gone,” Sam whispers, suddenly wide awake,”Well, did you look around? Was there any sign of a struggle or anything?”

Alfie shakes his head, forlorn,”Some of the books in the sitting room were scattered and a few papers were on the floor, plus a mess of blood. But it didn’t look like a fight worthy of an angel went down, not at all!”

Sam runs his fingers through his hair and stands up, summoning his clothes from off of the ground. “I’ve got a hunch, that I know who this is,” He states aloud, feeling the angel’s eyes burning into his neck,”I just hope I’m wrong.”

“W-who do you think would... could do this...?”

Sam closes his eyes, and gulps softly,”Alfie, tell Bobby and Dean to go ahead and set to finding the blood of the most holy man. Samuel should be able to help,” He pulls his shirt over his head, and with a flick of his wrist, the shoes already on his feet are tied,”Samuel needs to stay here and keep an eye of Samson and Henry.”

Alfie shakes his head and squeaks,”Wait - You can’t go alone!”

Sam doesn’t reply and makes his way out the door, ignoring the frantic steps behind him. “Alfie,” He states as he goes down the dirt path,”I need you to do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to guard the house and everyone inside. Should anything happen to me -“

Alfie gasps,”Sam-“

Sam cuts him off with an irritated growl,”Listen! If anything should happen to me, I want your word that everyone I hold dear, my friends, my family - Just get them the hell out of dodge. Don’t give me a second thought.”

Alfie makes a soft noise and shudders,”I-I can’t... Sam, you’re my friend.”

“You can and you will. I’m asking you this as your friend,” Sam states firmly, his hazel hues cold and stern,”Please, please, do this for me. I can’t... I can’t be all alone. I just... I can’t. I would rather die a thousand times over, then be left all alone in this world.”

Alfie sniffs softly, but after a brief moment, he concedes and nods stiffly. “Okay. Okay,” He gulps and gives him a shaky smile,”I take you’ll be needing a lift?”

“Yeah, I still haven’t gotten the hang of teleporting,” Sam cringes, recalling the many bloody noses and curses garnered from his previous attempts.

Alfie gently takes Sam’s hand in his, gripping it tightly. The angel doesn’t even warn him, the next second he’s standing in the middle of his personal library in his cabin, seemingly alone. Then he feels it, a great plane of energy behind him, and his hair stands on end as a soft gasp escapes him.

“You feel it, don’t you,” Michael says, his back to Sam as he gazed out the window. He slowly turns to him, his mouth in a deep frown,”The residue of grace left in this place.”

“...yes,” Sam says slowly,”I thought it was your’s.”

Michael stares at Sam for a moment, his vessel’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger, something else, an emotion he can’t pinpoint. “It’s not,” He states at last, ignoring the relived exhale the cambion let’s out as his eyes jerk away,”But it does feel familiar.”

“I’ve been having dreams, no, visions,” Sam admits, taking a few steady steps toward the archangel.

“I’m aware.”

“...A-aware...? Have you been watching me?”

Michael’s lips twitch at the accusing tone and he scoffs,”Don’t flatter yourself. I was merely keeping an eye on you, lest another world ending disaster come about.”

Sam retorts,”The last one was on you, in case you forgot. I just cleaned up your mess -“

“Do not mistake my causality for friendliness, we simply don’t have time for our usual witty exchange of insults,” Michael snaps chillingly, and Sam jolts at his tone, taking a startled step back,”Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s sit and discuss just what you’ve been up to.”

Sam takes a seat on the edge of one of the shorter bookshelf’s, and much to his exasperation, Michael sits in Sam’s reading chair. “Do you want me to get us some tea or...” Sam trials off, feeling itchy under the archangel’s steel gaze,”...Some - Er, cookies?”

“No,” Michael remarks dryly,”We do not have time for hot drinks or sweets. Now, these portals that opened up when your child was born, all the individuals have been accounted for?”

Sam suspires uneasily and answers,”Only three out of four, though I have a bad feeling I know who the fourth is. With my visions and the energy I feel here -“

“A version of you that said ‘yes’ to my brother,” Michael guesses, his interest piqued,”Though I have not seen or felt my brother since the early days, I would be able to sense his grace from even the furthest reaches of the universe. But the grace residue left here, it feels... off. Tainted, somehow.”

“Tainted,” Sam repeats with a lour,”Tainted how?”

“I-I can’t describe it,” Michael admits closing his eyes, flinching slightly, before tossing his head to the side,”...It’s all wrong. That’s all I know to tell you.”

The cambion’s eyes blink yellow and he scans the room. “Besides that blood, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” He states, eyes sticking to the massive pairs of wings protruding from the archangel’s back,”...Oh...”

Michael’s wings were nothing like Gabriel’s, these wings seemed more like onyx blades, that get longer and larger at the edges. They’re sharp as needles, the bristles of the feathers so close together, they create an almost perfect coal black plane. Sam takes a step forward, ignoring the latter’s bewildered look, as he runs a finger tip down one of the feathers. He flinches, at the sensation of a prick, and shoves his finger into his mouth, gently sucking at it.

Michael rotates his shoulder blades, ruffling the wings, and the sound is surprisingly organic. Not the sound of metal on metal. “It’s rude to stare,” He says at last, looking more flustered than usual,”Let’s focus, shall we?”

Sam blinks away his yellow eyes, his normal hazel hues gently landing on the archangel,”Right. Um, that blood is likely from my counterpart, the soulless one,” He states marching around it, examining it closely, grimacing when he realizes its not only blood,”This isn’t just blood. There’s brain matter, chunks of mutilated flesh, fuck, this came from a head shot.”

“What use would an archangel have with human weaponry?”

Sam shrugs as he crouched down beside the evidence,”You said it yourself... something about this version of your brother is off. Hmm,” He hums in thought, continuing,”Another thing that concerns me is the body.”

“Yes,” Michael agrees,”Why would he take it? If your counterpart was to serve as a warning, he would have left it here or decimated it entirely.”

Sam frowns and his eyes look downcast,”And what did he do with Castiel? I see no signs of him here, not even residual grace.”

Michael fans his hand over the layout of the room, his eyes narrowing as he comes to the same conclusion,”Nothing. Many underestimate the might of an archangel; it’s all about creativity, and say what you will of my brother, but he certainly has that,” His expression is grim as he reveals,”For all we know he could have simply wiped him from the face of his planet.”

“No,” Sam insists, his voice choking up,”No, I can’t lose another damn person in my life. Besides, I-I would know if he was gone... The very second that Gabriel’s life left him, I felt it, deep, deep inside of me. And Castiel, he’s the only thing that’s been keeping me sane these past few months, if something happened to him...”

The archangel’s expression melted into something that resembled pity, if he could feel such a thing. “We know nothing conclusively as of this moment. For all we know, the seraph is alive and well,” He reminds him,”But we cannot assume one or the other, for now, we must just try and solve this mystery -“

“Wait,” Sam squeaks in surprise,”We?”

“Yes. My brother, not matter what universe, is my responsibility,” Michael tells him,”Perhaps, with the perspective of other universes, I’ll be offered more insight into just what I’m supposed to do.”

Sam slowly nods in comprehension. “Where do we go from here?” He questions,”I mean, the rest of the party can’t join us. They need to focus on finding the ingredients for the portal, er, since we’re on the subject...”

Michael sniffs,”You need some of my grace, yes? Fine. You shall have it, after this other version of my brother is dealt with.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks,” Sam mumbles, rubbing his neck,”Thanks I guess.”

Michael narrows his eyes, annoyance littering his features, and demands,”What?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

The archangel looks flabbergasted as he inquires,”What do you mean?”

“I think you know,” The cambion mutters,”I just... I thought there would be a lot more of an argument, an exchange of threats, maybe even just a few snide comments...” 

“Would you like me to...?”

“No. No!” Sam exclaims,”No, of course not!”

Michael nods stiffly and states,”Well, that settles it. Take my hand, we have much to do.”

Sam makes a sour face, before taking the offered hand. A loud ruffle of his great wings, both the angel and the cambion were gone.

 

SPNSPN

 

Henry was wailing like a banshee, both Dean and Bobby were complaining because of said wailing. The eggs were burning, somehow the water for the oatmeal caught on fire, and now he’s about five seconds away from strangling his other-brother with a baby blanket. Then Dean swooped in and took over kitchen duties, shooing him to take care of the nephilim in the living room.

Samuel collapses on the couch, gently laying the infant across his chest, gently rubbing a hand down his back. Henry had quieted to a tiny whimper, the tears on his red face starting to dry. He sighs and uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away any residue the infant’s fit had left on his face.

“Hey,” Samuel coos, moving him into his arms, to rock him back and forth,”Hey, Henry. You’re gonna be okay. And so is your dad. There’s not a single thing that should be on those tiny little shoulders, huh?”

Henry whimpers softly in response, his big, watery doe eyes blinking at him. Samuel chuckles at that, pressing the tip of his finger against his button nose, watching as the infant’s face scrunches up in agitation. Henry sneezes loudly, scrunching his eyes tightly, making the furniture in the room shake violently.

“Balls,” Bobby curses from the other room, following the sound of breaking glass.

“Sorry, my bad,” Samuel yells back, wincing.

Dean strolls into the room, holding two plastic bowls in his hands, plopping down on the couch. He grunts, setting the bowl in the latter’s lap,”The kid’s fit made what eggs were salvageable decorate the wall, so eat up.”

“Lucky Charms,” Samuel points out, keeping Henry in the crook of one arm, and using the other to spoon small portions into his mouth,”I-I honestly, can’t remember the last time I’ve had these.”

“I remember you used to always hog them, wailing on me to dad everytime I’d get a _single_ bowl. Then you started to just leave me the cruddy toy, like that’d make up for it. The one upside of you becoming a whiny-ass teenager, was that you started your health-freak phase and stuck to your greens.”

Samuel smiles at that, and says,”To be fair, you hogged a lot of other things.”

Dean shrugs, shoving a heaping spoonful into his mouth, not acting when milk dribbles down his chin. Samuel groans in disgust, and elbows his other brother, chuckling when this causes him to spill the contents of his bowl all over his lap.

Samuel sets his bowl of cereal on the coffee table, and repositions the infant in both arms, giving the latter a cocked eye brow. “Problem?”

“Now you’re just using him as a shield,” Dean growls, slinging milk from his hands as he stands up, waddling to the kitchen to clean himself up.

Henry giggles, making Samuel crack a smile as he praises,”Look at you, cheering up already.”

The nephilim’s bright mood is ruined when the house begins to rumble again, and simultaneously, all the phones in the house began to ring. The infant tosses his head back and begins to wail, tears springing from his eyes as he flails his balled fists. 

“Sam! Sammy,” Dean’s voice booms from the kitchen, his thundering footsteps following.

Samuel stands up promptly, clinging to the infant in his arms protectively. “That time it wasn’t him,” He states gravely as his other brother stops at the entryway into the living room,”Find out what the hell is going on - I’m getting Henry and Samson to one of the back rooms.”

Samuel goes toward Samson, who’s say up on the couch, a bowl of broth propped on his lap. “What’s all the commotion,” He inquires, stifling a cough with his fist,”I-I can fight, if need be...”

Samuel laughs wryly and shakes his head, asking,”Can you walk?”

Samson nods and stands, setting his bowl on the side table. Samuel reaches out to help him, when Alfie flies right in front of him, nearly collapsing against him, before he uses his one free arm to hold him upright. “S-Samuel,” He gasps out, blood dribbling down his temple,”I-I’m sorry... t-there were too many...”

Samuel shakes his head, not comprehending. “Too many what? Alfie,” He pulls the young angel against his side and nearly drags him down the hall, into the back room,”Here, lay down. Take him.”

Samson has followed them into the room, his hooded eyes watching them uneasily. “W-Whatever is out there,” He coughs softly,”...Y-You’re gonna n-need all the man power y-you can get.”

Tiredly, Alfie takes Henry into his arms, blinking blearily at Samuel. “P-please, y-you can’t...” He groans laying back onto the bed, and his eyes flash silver for a split second, before closing abruptly,”...t-too... many...”

Samuel frowns deeply, and takes the infant from the angel’s limp arms, settling him on the other bed. Henry cries harder, louder, his chin trembling as he grips hard onto his father’s counterpart’s fingers. Samson sits down on the bed next to Alfie, gently gripping the side of his face.

“Alfie, get out of here. Use what little bit of grace you have left and take them with you,” Samuel commands, ignoring Samson’s objection that dies out with a ruffle of feathers.

Dean grabs him by his wrist and yanks him out of the room, practically dragging him down the hallway. “Come on,” Dean hisses, stumbling when the house shakes again,”The warding is already on its last legs.”

Wrenching his arm away from him, Samuel demands,”What’s out there?”

“Demons. More than I’ve ever seen. Luckily halo-head knocked out at least seventy percent of them,” Dean says coldly,”Still a lot. Come on, we need to get ready for one hell of a fight. I hope you’re a better shot in your universe.”

Samuel shoots him a scoff,”I wipe your ass at the gun range.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Sammy,” Dean shoots back,”I’m sure you caught my counterpart on some off-days. Hungover or in need of a power nap.”

“That’d make everyday of his life an off-day,” Samuel quips.

Bobby storms into the room, tossing them both a shotgun, his mouth twisted into a sour expression,”Am I interrupting something, ladies? If y’all are too busy, I’ll come back later when the bastards knocking outside, have already kicked down the damn door!”

Samuel cocks his shotgun, aiming it toward the window, where he can see several meat suits wandering the premises. “Where are these guys coming from?”

“I don’t know! Just try and maim ‘em, ya idjit!” Bobby yells.

“Maim? Bobby, they’re here looking for blood -“ Dean argues, his lips a thin line.

“Well, what do you suggest? That we just tear through their meat suits, not giving a flying shit how many innocent folks we send to an early grave?”

Samuel sides with Bobby, hissing,”Bobby is right. We’ll find another way,” He jumps when the door begins to thud loudly,”Have you tried calling for help?”

“All the other hunters in the area are blowing my phone off the hook. Everyone else we know is either preoccupied, not picking up or god-knows-where,” Bobby informs him, grimacing when he sees the crowd outside thickening,”Balls! I thought Crowley was in our corner?”

Dean shrugs, snarling,”I never trusted the bastard. Good thing is, this stunt will probably give my brother enough incentive to gank him. Now would be a nice time for him to make an appearance.”

“Focus up, boy. Wishing real hard don’t make it reality,” Bobby exclaims,”Samuel, what you thinking? Samuel?”

Samuel is staring out the window intently, his jaw gritted tightly. “We can’t exorcise them,” He points to one of the meat suit’s arms, indicating the circle with a line drawn through it branded on his arm,”Seems they learned a trick or two from Meg.”

“Damn, binding links! They’ve locked themselves in,” Bobby snarls, slapping his palm against the door in frustration.

Dean suggests,”Last time, when Meg danced that waltz in Sammy, we just burned the link. The bitch smoked out - Like that.”

Samuel responds sullenly with a frown,”Only because an entire exorcism had already been performed, before the link was severed. So we’d have to exorcise the demons first, then severe all of the links individually, or vice versa,” He paces the room, ignoring the thuds and bangs and growls outside,”Of course, a mass exorcism is not common, but not impossible -“

“Wait, wait, Sammy,” Dean interrupts, his emerald green hues wide as his lips swoop into a smile,”Remember exercising Lilith's lackeys in a police station with the PA system?”

“Okay, first off, it’s exorcising, not exercising,” Samuel corrects, annoyed,”Second, I do, but I don’t know how we’ll be able to replicate that situation here, Dean -“

An entire human body crashed through the window, spraying shattered glass and chunks of wood across the room. The body twitches, it’s eyes blinking open to reveal inky black hues, and its lips twist into a shit-eating grin.

“Howdy,” Cecily greets, cracking her neck loudly as she shakes broken glass off of her body. Demon after demon crawls in after her, like flies swarming to rotting meat, until they’re all forming a semicircle around the trio.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus - _“_ Samuel starts his teeth grit tightly, when one of the demons jerks their hands and he’s tossed across the room.

Cecily hisses frigidly,”I hear one damn word of an exorcism, and I’ll stick my red hot curling iron up one of your perky buttholes.”

“Kinky, but not my kind,” Dean replies briskly, turning to Samuel,”Sammy, you good?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine - Oh,” Samuel sits up, lays against the book case, blood trickling down his chin. His hands are wrapped over a quickly growing spot of red on his abdomen. As he pulls away his shaking hands, a jagged piece of glass, nearly five inches thick is revealed to be lodged in his upper abdomen,”Oh - I...”

Dean feels his heart beating out of his chest, as he snarls,”Sammy! Fuck it,” He cocks his shotgun, and blasts the demon’s closest to him legs. He ignores the wail of pain, and aims again,”If you black-eyed sons of bitches touch him, I’ll make hell look like a damn dance party.”

“Cute. Really cute,” Cecily purrs, pouting her lips mockingly. She slowly crouches beside the injured hunter,”My unbeating heart is touched.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he realizes aloud,”Cecily,” He raises his eyebrows at her,”You’re supposed to be on our team! Not batting for the other side.”

“Sorry boys, new king, new orders,” Cecily sighs, curling her hair with her finger,”And he, doesn’t seem to want a working relationship with you guys.”

“New king,” Bobby utters,”...Balls.”

Cecily winks at Bobby and states,”Yep. Sam, at least one of them, is the king that I’ve always wanted him to be. That all of us, every demon in the pit, has wanted him to be. So this can go one of two ways,” She holds up one finger,”Door number one - You can all drop your weapons and come with me for a little faculty meeting. Door number two, well...”

She grabs the glass and twists it as blood spurts, a pained cry of surprise escaping the injured man. She goes on,”It’d be a damn shame to make a piece of ass this fine bite the dust. But, orders are orders.”

Dean’s fists are white knuckled against the shotgun in his grip, the small group of demons the only thing keeping him from ripping her innards out. She was going to kill his brother - something in him twists painfully - one of his brothers. “Don’t you fucking touch him!”

Dean growls at the two demons closest to him, looking seconds away from doing seething very stupid and suicidal. While Bobby’s own anger is pliable, it seems Samuel is the only one in the room looking composed despite the fact that a hefty sized shard of glass is lodged in him.

“D-Dah... D-Dean,” Samuel cries out, struggling past the claret foaming at his lips,”I-I’m not y-your, S-Sam... Jah-J-Just...”

Dean doesn’t say a word, he just drops his weapon and slowly raises his hands over his head. “It doesn’t matter what time or place you’re from,” He utters, smirking,”You’re still my pain-in-the-ass little brother, and I’ve gotta protect you. Okay?”

Bobby copies the man beside him, conferring,”You’re still one of my boys.”

Samuel just mutely shakes his head, stubbornly pursing his lips when another cough rises in his throat. Cecily just rolls her eyes and says,”Gah, this is enough sweetness to make me diabetic,” She waves her hand towards the demons at her back,”I just saved you guys some perfectly good meatsuits. Kill them both and bring him.”

“You cunt -“ Dean roars in anger, diving for his discarded shotgun. Before he can twist his fingers around it, or even brush them, he’s thrown against the wall by a bear of a man.

Bobby yells in alarm, scrambling after him as he goes to his knees, only to be yanked back, a demon grabbing an arm each. Dean groans aloud, gulping thickly as he boosts himself up until he’s sprawled out against the wall, panting, trying to get his senses back in gear. Dean turns his head, blinking blearily, slowly opening his eyes just in time to see Samuel bite down on the neck of Cecily, blood pooling down his mouth and staining his neck scarlet.

Samuel’s throat bobs as heavily gulps, Cecily screaming and thrashing in his grip to no avail. He digs his fingers into her shoulder blades and spins her around, slamming her against the wall. Dean is frozen, his limbs seemingly unresponsive as he attempts to move. So all he can do is watch in enrapt horror as he sucks her dry.

Samuel throws her body to the ground, and Dean blinks again, his breathing erratic. His other brother nonchalantly seizes the glass that’s lodged into his abdomen, and promptly yanks it out without so much as a grunt of pain. He slowly lifts one hand, spreading his fingers apart as he shuts his eyes in concentration.

Smoke blasts from all of the demon’s mouths simultaneously, throwing their heads back and screaming in pain. The pillars of smoke slam through the wooden floor boards, burning through it, and charring the carpet over it. A heavy asric smell wafts throughout the house.

Samuel stumbles back, falling to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. “I-I’m s-sah... s-sorry...” He whispers distantly, his gaze growing distant as blood pulses past his trembling hands,”T-Tell h-him I-I h-ha-had t-to. P-p-please...”

“Fuck,” Dean curses, running past the shedded meatusits, falling to his knees to practically cradle the much larger man in his arms,”W-We’ve gotta do somethin’, Bobby. H-He’s bleeding out. God, stay with me, Sammy! Sammy!”

Bobby shakes his head, yanking a blanket off of the couch and shoving it into Dean’s hands. “He should know better than to yank out the only thing keeping him from spilling his guts out,” He points out, then his eyes widen as a corner of his mouth twitches,”N-no... He wouldn’t.”

“Shit, h-he’s trying to kill himself,” Dean realizes, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he set his mouth in a hard line,”You idiot. You fucking idiot!”

Samuel is unresponsive, his eyelids drooping and his jaw slack as a steady stream of blood escapes his lips. Dean was poker faced as he pulled his phone from his pocket and pulled up the first name on his emergency contacts: Sam Winchester. The phone rings three times, before going straight to voicemail.

“We need to get him to a hospital,” Bobby states, standing up and going to his home phone. He dials quickly and waits for the operator to pick up.

“What about all these damn bodies?” Dean yells, screwing up his face, as his hands grope at his other brother’s face and neck.

“Best get to hauling ass, you idijit.”


End file.
